


The Care and Wooing of Tony Stark, Billionaire

by AngeNoir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Gift Giving, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'Challa was content with his quiet crush, especially considering his Council is unhappy with his new... houseguests. (He's not all that happy with them most of the time, either.)</p><p>Then he gets a gift.</p><p>And another.</p><p>And another.</p><p>And then he decides that maybe he ought to do some gift giving himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on tumblr on the imagineironpanther blog. Fulfilling multiple prompts, listed at the end.

T’Challa frowned at the knock on his door. He had expressly asked not to be disturbed, especially when considering the various thinly veiled threats the American Secretary of State was sending his way if he ‘chose not to aid in the apprehension of world criminals’ and the other numerous correspondence from other countries in the UN that wanted his view on the Accords after that debacle at the airport. “Enter,” he said coolly.

Shuri stepped in to the room and he felt his scowl darken even more. With others, he would have to pretend calmness or acceptance, but Shuri was still his baby sister and he was more than comfortable being upset at her interruption. She, however, smiled as serenely as she always did when getting under his skin.

“What?” he demanded, leaning forward on his father’s desk – his desk, now, and it still hurt his heart sometimes, an odd jump that pulled at him unexpectedly.

She kept her face smooth and calm as she said, “You have elephants on your front lawn.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. He – had no idea what to say to that.

“Elephants?” he finally asked.

She nodded, and that serenity cracked to show her amusement in her eyes. “Elephants. Baby elephants.”

He felt slightly shocked, and he wasn’t sure what he was expected to do. “Did they… escape from the zoo?”

Her smile was almost predatory when she handed him a small envelope.

The envelope wasn’t addressed in any particular way, the handwriting sharp and jerky, almost blocky. It had his name on it, but nothing else. He eyed it, and then pulled it open.

_Your Highness T’Challa,_

_I’m not quite sure if elephants thrive or not – is that the right word, Friday, thrive? but they seemed like a gift fit for a king. Also they’re orphaned elephants so it’s not like I stole baby elephants or anything. I figured you could have small babies running around and train them to be careful of the grounds. Do you have grounds there big enough for an elephant? You might not, sorry. Well, shit, they’re already on their way, and they’re sponsored, so I guess if you just want to, you know, keep them around – or donate them to a zoo, whatever. Baby elephants for the ducklings under your wings, it made sense when I did it, you know what, you don’t even need to keep them, they came from Kenya, I’ll even pay for them to be taken back, just talk to the guys that brought them._

_You know what, just, end message, Friday._

_Dr. Anthony Edward Stark, VP of R &D and CTO of Stark Industries_

T’Challa stared at the letter. It had obviously been dictated, not hand-written, and he wasn’t sure why he found that incredibly personal and touching. Clearing his throat, he looked at his sister. “They’re – in the front?”

“I did not let them unload yet,” she said teasingly. “After all, I know who sent them.”

T’Challa frowned. “How?”

“You forget that I have traveled far more extensively than you,” she pointed out, almost gleefully. “I have had the opportunity to see Stark before this entire mess, and I watched him interact with you. I watched _you_ interact with _him_.” Then she let out a loud laugh and darted out the door as he stood up, cheeks heated in embarrassment.

T’Challa came out of his office and walked down the hallway to the large windows that overlooked the front of the executive office of the King. This wasn’t his house – his house, and his family’s lands, were kept private – but he stayed most of the time here, like his father did. It made him accessible to the people, who could bring petitions in during certain times, and made him closer to the Council. So though it looked grand, with a large lawn in front and a curving drive, it was not exactly equipped for the _five_ baby elephants that were currently, thankfully, still within their trailers. He didn’t know what he’d do if they had been let out.

Shuri was standing by the head trailer, talking with the driver, and she looked up to him and grinned.

T’Challa didn’t know what to say and so rolled his eyes and went back to his office.

***

The next week, T’Challa stepped into his office and stopped dead.

Shuri looked up from where she’d been sniffing the flowers spread out on his desk and grinned that particular grin that promised problems for him in the future.

“What—” he began.

Shuri interrupted him. “I think you should perhaps talk to Stark. These flowers are absolutely lovely, but I’m sure they’re endangered.”

“I could buy my own flowers,” T’Challa said, a little blankly. “Why is he doing this?”

“Oh, he’s not sending them,” Shuri said airily before flouncing out of the room.

Quite confused, T’Challa looked at the delicate white petals that hung like ethereal bells from a beautiful vine, intertwined with stunning bright blue blossoms. A heavy white card rested in a nest of the blooms, and confused – and flattered – T’Challa picked it up.

_Your Highness, T’Challa,_

_What do you give someone who’s over forty times richer than you? How the hell am I supposed to know, Friday? I – well, these are some ghost orchids and jade vines. I also sent a gardener specially trained in pollinating and caring for them because I’m pretty sure they aren’t natural to Africa, or America for that matter – should I send ones natural to America? I’m American – I’m part Italian? I feel as if American flowers aren’t that great—_

_Who am I kidding, Friday, just strike—_

_No, I’m not doing anything, Pepper, nothing at all, just – end, Friday, close._

_Dr. Anthony Edward Stark, VP of R &D and CTO of Stark Industries_

A faint suspicion began to grow in the back of his mind, and he looked at the stunning flowers a second longer before turning on his heel and exiting the office.

He had some research to do.

***

When he came into his office to find a staggeringly huge basket full of chocolates and different sweets and treats, he looked for the card he was accustomed to receiving. It was easier to find; the white cream stood out among the gold foils and delicate pastries.

_Your Highness, T’Challa,_

_I’m running out of ideas here – I don’t even know what you like, do you know that? We barely interacted. I don’t know what to say to you – I don’t know why you’d even accept any of these gifts. Why would you? Anything I buy, you could get for yourself ten times over. Forty times, even._

_Fuck it, Friday, del—_

_Rhodey, what are you doing down here? You make it all the way downstairs by yourself? I’ll fire that hot nurse, see if I don’t._

_Tony, what are you doing down here?_

_Nothing, Rhodey, I’m not – nothing. Let’s get you back upstairs, huh?_

_Pepper says you’ve been buying weird things and then trying to stuff them in the back of your closet._

_Pepper is a lying liar who lies and who loves to torture me. Why, just the other day I—_

_Absence of A.E. Stark ends dictation._

_Dr. Anthony Edward Stark, VP of R &D and CTO of Stark Industries_

T’Challa reread the note a second and then third time before nodding and moving to the doorway. Outside stood Kaisa and Aziza.

“Bring my sister here, please,” he said mildly, and closed the door again.

The basket he moved to the floor to the side of his desk, unwilling to think about it just yet. He managed to get through five petitions before the door opened and Shuri stepped in, her Cheshire grin firmly in place.

“You summoned me, dear brother?”

T’Challa pointed at the basket. “Explain,” he commanded, voice short and to the point.

It had absolutely no effect on someone who grew up with him, of course, and she merely strolled over to the basket and hummed in the back of her throat appreciatively. “Very good quality, brother. Then again, he does buy good-quality items all the time.”

“You said he is not sending these.”

Shuri shrugged carelessly. “Would it matter if he was?”

T’Challa squinted at her and said in exasperation, “Yes, it would matter, because if _he_ is sending it, he is obviously attempting to begin a relationship. If _someone else_ is sending these gifts, the reasons are endless.”

“Perhaps, like a certain brother I know, he simply needs… a helping hand. To nudge him in the right direction,” Shuri teased, but when T’Challa furrowed his brow, Shuri sighed and shook her head. “He would not send you anything voluntarily. I’m sure you’ve been reading the notes, and perhaps you can take a guess, but his current PA has been looking for the gifts and sending them as quickly as possible.”

T’Challa opened his mouth to respond, but the full implications of the words made him slowly close his mouth, consider his words carefully. “Looking for the gifts, and sending them quickly. Has Stark been…”

“Buying multiple things for you, and then scrapping the purchases almost instantly? Yes,” Shuri said breezily. “Perhaps you should talk to one of your current houseguests and determine what to do next, because this is the last one you’ll receive. Stark’s PA has been very clear that Stark stopped buying gifts. I wonder why?”

T’Challa opened his mouth to reply, but his sister had already opened the plastic and was unwrapping a truffle.

“Hey!” he said, affronted, because those were _his_ candies and truffles.

She licked her lips and chuckled. “Or you could ask the man himself. Send him something in return.”

He took a threatening step forward, and like any little sister she skipped out of the way, snickering, and left the room. He scowled at the doorway, but her words sunk deep, took root. The more he thought of it, she was right. Tony Stark had been sending gifts, and by reading the cards, it certainly didn’t look as if he had intended them to _actually_ send, but that didn’t change the fact that Tony had – that _Stark_ had clearly bought the gifts with T’Challa in mind. He should do something to thank To – _Stark_. He should show his thankfulness, that someone thought of him. Too often people assumed – rightly, but that was beside the point – that since T’Challa was prince, now king, he bought himself what he wanted and needed no gifts from anyone else.

T’Challa paused.

Tony Stark was head of Stark Industries. He wasn’t in T’Challa’s league in terms of riches, but he certainly was far richer than most people could dream of in their lifetime. Perhaps Tony – _Stark_ – was in the same boat.

Which was a shame. If there was anyone who deserved some pampering and gifts, it was Tony Stark.

That… was not a bad idea, actually. Whether voluntarily or not, Tony Stark had thought about giving him these gifts and they were here. He deserved some gifts in return, didn’t he?

***

“He’s definitely pining. You should call him,” Shuri murmured, dropping off paperwork on his desk.

“Pining?” T’Challa asked absently, brow furrowed. This was the sixth rewrite of the Accords coming across his desk, and he knew it was Tony – _Stark_ in charge of it, Stark the one pushing to get them rewritten. There were a lot of things, actually, that Tony – that _Stark_ – had been doing recently, and T’Challa had even communicated once or twice with Stark’s assistant on timelines and the like. Not Stark himself; the few times T’Challa had tried to get Tony – get Stark – on the phone, he’d been answered by an advanced AI who had said in a calm, reassuring voice that T’Challa’s message was taken and would be responded to with the utmost urgency by the Dr. Anthony E. Stark.

A snap of fingers jerked his attention out of his thoughts, and he could feel his cheeks flushing as he met Shuri’s eyes.

“You were thinking about Stark again, weren’t you?”

“Shuri, is this the paperwork on the housing situation for the political refugees? I thought that was settled,” he sighed.

Tsking her tongue, she tapped her finger against the Accords draft he had been going over with a blue pen. “You know exactly who’s pining, and what you should do. You should go to the next table talks on the Accords, instead of just faxing in your changes. I know you have a lot of work here, what with all the,” she waved a hand in the air negligently, “ _refugees_ you took in, but I know that look in your eye, and I know your… _affinity_ for engineers.”

“I am – I can’t simply _leave_ , Shuri. I am… king, now. I have to fortify and strengthen our country if Ross decides to shove his weight around.”

She let out a huff and shook her head. “You always do this. You see something you want and you hesitate and hesitate until it passes you by. Besides, it is a simple matter to justify your trip. These Accords, rewritten and improved, will be what finally removes Ross as a threat, not fortifying the country. Go submit your changes in person. Talk to Stark.”

Before he could say anything to that, Shuri was exiting the room. He stared at the door behind her and weighed her words in his head.

Finally, he shook his head and dialed his secretary to tell her to prepare the Dora Milaje for a trip outside of Wakanda.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I realize I forgot to mention this is a serial-ish fic that is on tumblr here, and so when the next part of the story goes up there, I'll put the next chapter up here!
> 
> two small notes - one, for where wakanda is canonically located, xhosa is spoken nowhere near it, and two, _ikatana_ means kitten, and I **think** the term _yam_ indicates possession (my kitten, vs. kitten), but I am by no means fluent or even knowledgeable about the language beyond googling. if you have any knowledge, feel free to correct it!

When he met Tony Stark for the first time since taking the Captain and his friend to Wakanda, T’Challa’s first thought was that Mr. Stark needed a warm bath and something hot and meaty to put weight back on his gangly frame. His second was deep-set annoyance that Shuri was right – he had needed the nudge in this direction.

He hadn’t told any of his current ‘houseguests,’ as Shuri called them, that he would be here, or that he had been working on the rewording and reworking of the Accords. He didn’t need to – he knew that of the group, two of them were Tony Stark’s worst enemies, two of them believed in Tony Stark but believed in someone else (the Captain) more, and the others never even spoke his name, as if deliberately trying to ignore their former teammate. T’Challa himself had only worked with Tony Stark in person when trying to hunt down Captain Rogers and his rag-tag band of misfits. At that time, his focus had been on making sure his father’s killer had been brought to justice and made to answer for the death; he’d not interacted with Stark all that much. He really hadn’t been able to, actually – he’d interacted more with Rhodes and Romanoff than Stark, simply by virtue of the fact that any time Ross yelled (and that narrow-minded, pitiful man was exactly what T’Challa had expected of America, but that was neither here nor there) Stark had to go play court to the Secretary of State. Those few months ago, he remembered being vaguely worried about Stark, and what Ross would do when they failed to bring Captain Rogers and his team.

Now, he could see the weariness and worry on Tony’s face. To his credit, he kept himself from reacting. Tony Stark, however, did a small double-take at seeing T’Challa there. And only because he was _looking_ (damn you Shuri) did he see the faint flush in Tony’s cheeks, the way Tony’s – argh, _Stark_ – Stark’s eyes lingered on his form.

“Your highness, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here,” Tony Stark said, reaching out to shake T’Challa’s hand. Patting T’Challa’s arm, Tony smiled, and it brought genuine relief and warmth to his face. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you as well, Mr. Stark,” T’Challa replied, feeling the smile take over his face, and he mentally praised his dark skin from keeping his blush from showing.

Tony scoffed, chuckling. “Tony, please. Mr. Stark is – my father,” he said, trailing off. Licking his lips nervously, he shook his head and cleared his throat. “But I didn’t think you were interested in doing in-person changes. You’ve been effectively faxing and communicating from your stronghold in Wakanda. I assumed you were… busy with other matters.”

Well, he’d never get a better opportunity than this. “I could never be too busy to speak with you, Anthony,” he murmured, winking, and then turned to take a seat in the room.

Tony stood there, flabbergasted, before more people entered the room and he took a seat next to T’Challa.

There were seven other people in the meeting, representing the bigger names in the UN, and they got down to business. There were plenty of agendas in the room, and the representatives from Russia and France particularly seemed against the many changes Tony had introduced. Reading the document that Tony had brought – and why Ross wasn’t here, or at least the American representative, instead of Tony Stark, it was never explained – T’Challa had to admit Tony had the right idea, though it was still too permissive, put too much power in the hands of the superheroes, allowing them to violate state sovereignty too easily.

The discussion was the first of many, of course – the Accords was hundreds of pages long, and they were looking at a small section of one of the many articles. There was another week and a half scheduled to discuss and debate changes. But when they broke for lunch, T’Challa took Tony’s elbow and linked their arms, surprising Tony once again.

“Come. We will go eat lunch, my treat,” he said, leading Tony out of the building and into his waiting limo.

Tony looked about him, taken aback. “You realize I have my own transportation, right?”

This would be – very bold, very forward, but, well, T’Challa didn’t come here to go halfway, and if there was one good thing about his personality, it was that once he decided to do something, he committed. Taking Tony’s hand, he rubbed a thumb gently over his knuckles, a slow, deliberate motion that Tony unconsciously focused on, his breathing slowing. When Tony finally lifted his gaze to meet T’Challa’s eyes, T’Challa smiled fondly at him. “I know, Anthony Stark. But I would like to pamper you today, if you would allow it.”

It looked as if Tony were about to leap from the car, jerk away – any number of violent things. Certainly his breathing sped up, eyes dilating, and his hand tensed under T’Challa’s touch. After a few seconds, Tony let out a decidedly fake laugh and looked away from T’Challa’s face. “I’d think I’m the last person you should be pampering, but what the hell. I haven’t been in Geneva since I was thirty-one, I think. You can show me a good place to eat.”

Kissing Tony’s knuckles would be too much; instead, T’Challa hummed under his breath and waited for his driver to pull up to one of the finest restaurants he’d visited in Switzerland.

And it did look like Tony was expecting the rug to be pulled out from underneath him, multiple times. Throughout the decadent meal, the walk through a private art collection, and T’Challa taking Tony to a stunningly beautiful restaurant that overlooked the lake at sunset, Tony gradually relaxed more and more. By the end of the meal, Tony no longer looked hunted, and he leaned back from his plate with a sigh.

“I think I’ve eaten more today than I had all week,” he joked, shaking his head. “I can’t see why you’re doing this, though.”

T’Challa could believe that this was the best Tony had eaten, especially considering how much the normally tailored suits hung on his frame, and how quickly Tony had devoured the food, but he said nothing at all of it. Instead, he let out a soft sigh, staring out over the purpling sky. “Well, let’s just say that there’s not much one can gift a rich man, but peace of mind is one of the few things everyone needs at some point.”

Let it not be said that Tony was slow on the uptake; his face twisted and he sighed. “You got those gifts.”

“I feel I only got a few of the ones you intended to send me,” T’Challa murmured. “Those that I received—”

“I’m – look you can forget about them, T’Challa – your majesty – I’m sorry. They’re probably very paltry, considering that you could buy what I give you a hundred times over and not notice. I didn’t realize Pepper was sending them, and when I did – well—”

T’Challa leaned forward, across the table, and took Tony’s hand, effectively interrupting Tony’s babble. “Anthony,” he said gravely, not letting his eyes drop from Tony’s gaze, letting the seriousness and sincerity of his words come through to the older man in voice and tone, “too often, we do not get the gifts, the kindness, or the trinkets others take for granted, because everyone assumes we can buy what we want for ourselves. It was a treat to receive the gifts, and I enjoyed them very much.”

Tony’s mouth slowly closed, and then he flexed his hand in T’Challa’s grip and said, a bit hoarsely, “You barely know me, your majesty—”

“Please, T’Challa is my name. I find myself missing hearing others say it,” T’Challa interrupted quietly.

Tony shook his head, as if not sure what to say to that, and continued, “ _You barely know me_ , and you didn’t really speak to me before, and honestly I had more conversations with your sister than with you, and I don’t know where this is coming from, I don’t know if you talked to Romanoff or St – or Rogers, but if this is pity, I don’t need it, and if it’s something else—”

“Tony,” T’Challa cut Tony off, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s knuckles again. “I want to be clear with you, right now – I find you attractive. I am interested in pursuing a relationship with you, if you are amenable. If you are not, it is a simple matter. But I found you attractive when we first met, and despite our circumstances and our meeting, nothing has changed my opinion about you as a hardworking, dedicated servant of the people.”

Tony’s eyes were wide, and he croaked out, “I think you may just have confused me with someone else.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” T’Challa asked, attempting to turn the conversation towards something more positive.

Tony narrowed his eyes at T’Challa, as if considering something, and then shrugged his shoulders, overly casual. “The Beau-Rivage.”

“You look tired, and we both will have a trying day tomorrow with the talks,” T’Challa decided, standing up and helping Tony to his feet. “You need rest, and relaxation, my friend.”

Tony leered, though it was a mere shadow of a true expression, and T’Challa realized Tony had taken T’Challa’s words to mean they were going back to Tony’s hotel room for sex. “I’m always up for more relaxation, of course,” Tony purred.

It was a tactic T’Challa had seen before, thinking of one’s body as a weapon as much as one’s money or name or resources, and so he simply smiled and inquired about Tony’s current projects, his efforts in clean energy. It gave them both something neutral to talk about, and Tony lost some of that practiced veneer as he explained his tactics and methods.

When T’Challa’s limousine pulled up in front of the hotel, T’Challa exited the car and aided Tony out onto the curb, the city sounds and lights around them, the scent of the lake and the soft cawing of the gulls in the backdrop. Gently, allowing Tony time to pull away, T’Challa cradled Tony’s face and kissed him, chastely, tenderly. When he pulled back, Tony’s lashes brushed against T’Challa’s cheeks, and Tony’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated.

“I had a wonderful evening, Anthony,” T’Challa rumbled. “I look forward to seeing you the rest of this week.”

Confusion stole across Tony’s features, but T’Challa stepped back, pressed his lips to Tony’s knuckles, and began to get back into the car.

“Wait – where are you going?”

T’Challa paused, and smiled. “I did not know where you were staying, but I am staying at the d’Angleterre – down the street. It seems a waste to already have a room and not use it, so I will be returning there. I meant what I said, Anthony – you deserve rest. I heard very good things about the Beau-Rivage. Take advantage of their massage services. Relax a little. You have worked so hard for so many, it is important to take the comforts when you can.”

Stunned, Tony stood on the curb as the limo pulled away, turned and then made its way to T’Challa’s hotel.

He had meant what he had said to Tony; he hadn’t known Tony was staying at the Beau-Rivage, and honestly he was glad to have this small separation, even if it was less than a minute’s walk between the two hotels. It gave him time to think, to plan. He wanted to pamper Tony to the best of his ability, and so as he entered his hotel room he looked up his first plan to woo and court Tony Stark. Tomorrow, he’d see how his present would be received, and he could adjust his plans accordingly.

Though it was odd that Tony would think he’d been speaking with Romanoff and Rogers. T’Challa had seen that Tony respected Rogers and Romanoff deeply, and it had wounded Tony to go against Rogers – and it had deeply cut Tony when Romanoff allowed them to escape. At the time, T’Challa had been furious himself with Romanoff, and had not noticed much else, and Tony had been overseeing Colonel Rhodes’s medical care – T’Challa would need to look into that, see if there was anything he could help with there – but he had seen the tightness, the barely concealed panic and wounded, hunted look in Tony’s face and shoulders.

He could always ask Romanoff when he returned to Wakanda. Or Rogers, though Rogers spent much of his time outside of Wakanda, searching for answers to cure his friend of any latent triggers.

He arranged for his gift to be delivered in the morning, called the Beau-Rivage to see if Tony had booked a massage – he had not – and then booked a massage for Tony and told the staff to see to it that Tony received the massage before he went to bed, and reviewed the notes he took during that morning’s debate. They had more debating to do tomorrow, and he wanted to be well-acquainted with everyone’s agendas and goals he’d assessed that morning so that tomorrow would be more productive and aimed more at results rather than sizing one another up.

***

The debates dragged on longer, to the point where it was more mid-afternoon than noon when they broke for the day. T’Challa had only gotten to the conference room right before the negotiations and posturing began, enough to snag a seat near Tony but not early enough to get one directly next to Tony, the way he had hoped. On the way out of the conference room, he made his way quickly to Tony’s side, linking his arm with Tony’s, and he smiled at Tony’s little jerk of surprise.

“Did you enjoy the gift?” T’Challa asked curiously. “I find myself rather at a loss at what you would enjoy.”

“It was – your highness, it was unnecessary—”

T’Challa tsked his tongue. “I did ask for you to call me by my name. And I wanted to do it, so I did. It was not unnecessary for me.”

Tony blushed prettily, the darker rose coloring his skin and making him look younger, smoothing away the frown lines and wrinkles. “T’Challa. It was very – sweet.” In a softer voice, Tony murmured, “I loved it.”

“I personally enjoyed your flowers, and hoped my selection would equal your thoughtful gift. But come, you must have lunch with me. Then we will go boating. Have you ever driven a boat?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Tony said slowly. “I’m sure I own one, at some point… or maybe I don’t. Huh. I’m more of a flier.”

“We will both do something new today, then,” T’Challa chuckled. “Come, any requests? When in Geneva, I find myself eating almost exclusively French cuisine, but there are many other choices. Latin cuisine and Mediterranean cuisine, just to name the restaurants I know that are nearby.”

There was no answer from Tony, and T’Challa – who had been looking straight ahead as he walked Tony to his limo – turned his head to meet Tony’s bewildered gaze.

“Is there a problem, Tony?” T’Challa asked, modulating his voice so it was neither patronizing nor pointed.

Tony shrugged helplessly. “You filled my rooms with flowers this morning, and fresh fruit. You ordered me a massage last night. You took me out yesterday, and didn’t allow me to pay, and it looks like you’re about to do it again. You say you didn’t speak to Nat – to Romanoff, or R-Rogers, but you – I can’t explain what you’re doing.”

It was a simple matter to shift his body, to gently clasp Tony’s forearms, bring his lips close to Tony’s. “I will say it as often as you need it repeated, Anthony Stark. I am interested in pursuing a relationship with you. That is my motivation. I have read many of your papers, seen many of your products. I have respected all that I have seen.”

Tony made a face, and before he could say anything, T’Challa continued, “Yes, even the weapons. They were put together by a master craftsman. I will not play dumb, and I know quite a bit more about vibranium technology and biophysics than you do, but you are a master in your field, and it shows. I could not do half of the creation you have done so far. My interests lie elsewhere, and sometimes I regret I did not turn down the craftsman path the way you have.”

Licking his lips, Tony offered, “If you ever are in the States, you could stop by. See my workshop.”

“I imagine that would be lovely,” T’Challa answered, taking a step back as his limo pulled up and one of the Dora Milaje opened the door. “Will you join me for lunch today?”

With a shrug, Tony allowed himself to be led into the limo.

***

That set the standards of their relationship for the next ten days: lunch together, some form of sightseeing or an activity they would both enjoy, dinner together, and then a kiss in front of Tony’s hotel before T’Challa would leave. If they got to the meetings and talks early enough, they would discuss new scientific discoveries and papers, designs and uses for vibranium, even the concept of AIs and personhood. T’Challa had asked after Rhodes and given his condolences, offered some of the top scientists from Wakanda to look into regrowing and rebuilding Rhodes’s spinal column. Tony had asked after Barton and Lang, and, in a roundabout way, asked about their families. Since T’Challa knew Tony had already transported Barton’s and Lang’s families to Wakanda, even if the jet had been unmarked and commercially flown, T’Challa assumed he was asking more about whether the two men had settled in, and if they knew it had been Tony Stark to reunite them with their families. He also asked about Wanda Maximoff, though in a more obtuse manner, but T’Challa could see the anxiety and nervousness in Tony’s eyes. It was easy enough to put Tony’s fears to rest by mentioning the new housing he’d created for political refugees, and the training facilities he had for mutants within his country that often aided people who had been, willingly or unwillingly, given powers by science.

Tony asked about Steve Rogers once, James Barnes and Natasha Romanoff not at all. T’Challa filed that away in his head as he answered to the best of his knowledge about the Captain.

T’Challa noted many things during his discussions about the Accords as well as his time spent with Tony. Chief among his observations was that Tony genuinely wanted accountability, and wanted it done right, which often meant he bowed too quickly in the face of pressure from big-name countries that had a lot of weight to throw around, and often did so for no reason. The second most important observation was that Tony was a closet romantic, and T’Challa’s gifts of jewelry, roses, chocolates, and finely crafted tools were all received well.

There were other small things, of course – T’Challa managed to figure out where the biggest pushback against the Accords was coming from, and where the biggest push _forward_ to make the Accords too broad and too sweeping was coming from. He discovered that Tony spoke about no one casually, as in someone he spoke to regularly or saw regularly, not even Vision – and that worried T’Challa more than he cared to admit. He knew that Tony was providing for Rhodes’s time off with his family, and a physical therapist to help Rhodes regain mobility with Tony’s prosthetics. He knew that Ross was absent because his handling of the Raft and the situation with Captain America and the rogue Avengers brought into light some very questionable motives. He found out that Tony was touch-starved, and quite often a simple brush of fingers against the back of Tony’s hand or the curl of T’Challa’s hand around Tony’s elbow would bring the genius to a stuttering halt.

He found that he desperately wanted to pursue this, even as the conference came to an end.

The last day of the discussion, with precious little finalized and more to go, T’Challa dropped Tony off at his hotel as always, but he lingered this time.

“Won’t you come up?” Tony asked, as he had periodically for the past ten days.

T’Challa sighed wistfully. “I can think of nothing better. However, I have plans to woo you properly, and I cannot do that by giving in to my base desires.”

“I’m not a blushing maiden, you realize,” Tony huffed.

T’Challa laughed, and bushed a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “I could never mistake you for such a person, Anthony,” he purred. “But I do wish to draw this out, create enjoyment for yourself and myself. I look forward to video-conferencing with you, and to visiting your workshop in the near future. And you must also come to Wakanda, see the many sights we have to offer.”

“Definitely,” Tony murmured, and he hesitated. “I’m leaving before dawn tomorrow. I’ve been away from my work for too long.”

“This was important,” T’Challa pointed out, inclining his head. “But I understand. I too leave fairly early tomorrow morning.”

“I’d like—” Tony cut himself off, looked down.

With ten days of courtship and intimacy with Tony behind him, T’Challa felt comfortable to cradle Tony’s face, lift the older man’s face just a bit, pressing a kiss on his lips. “Yes? Anything I can do for you, Anthony, I will try.”

“You call me Tony, sometimes. And Anthony others,” Tony said, and it sounded as if he was trying to distract T’Challa from the main point, but T’Challa hummed against Tony’s lips.

“I do,” he responded, lips brushing over Tony’s before moving to skim over Tony’s cheek. “Anthony, I feel, conveys my respect and my fondness. But Tony, Tony is who you are comfortable being, playful and engaging and full of passion. If you would prefer me to drop one—”

“No, I – I like them. Both names. Both of them.” Tony cleared his throat.

T’Challa pulled back, ever so slightly. “What, _ikatana yam_?”

Heaving a sigh, Tony shook his head. “I’d like to hear from you,” he finally said. “When you have time.”

From the time it took for Tony to say it, and from Tony’s expression, T’Challa was sure that was not what he intended to ask. Still, he simply inclined his head. “Of course. As often as I can.”

With a jerky nod, Tony took a step back. “This week was nice,” he said.

Grinning, T’Challa released Tony’s arms and moved towards his limo. “Hopefully, there will be many more nice weeks to come. For now, go home and take a warm bath. Breathe. Always find time to breathe. Smell the roses, as they say.”

“You act like there’s time to do that,” Tony sighed, but the corner of his mouth crooked up in a smile. “I’ll try.”

T’Challa contented him with that – and with knowing he had more gifts he would be sending to Tony soon.


	3. Chapter 3

“You certainly seem agreeable. And you seem to have had a productive week, as well,” Shuri commented, bringing the mail to him the day after he returned to Wakanda.

“You are the one who encouraged me to go,” he reminded her.

With a huff, she shook her head and dumped the mail over the papers he had been reading over. “So smug, so arrogant,” she teased. “Yet you return empty-handed.”

“The patient hunter is the successful hunter,” he murmured. “Besides, I worry about him. He is being run ragged by his responsibilities, and I doubt he takes much time to rest.”

Shuri paused, and then a pleased smile came over her face. “But of course, you are too wise to do the same to yourself. That is why you have gone to bed at a decent hour for these past few months, why you’ve remembered to join your current houseguests and your household for dinner and breakfast, why the past few months have a summary that includes more than just your work with the Council, your petition hearings, and your work on the Accords?”

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her a minute before smiling. “I’m in too good of a mood to let you upset me,” he replied mildly. “Is it lunch yet?”

“Lunch is more of an open time, as you know, but yes, the kitchen has prepared the lunch meal. I think most of your guests have eaten already, or are in the process of eating. Will you be joining them today?”

“I think I will,” T’Challa murmured, remembering Tony Stark’s words about Romanoff and Rogers. “Certainly, there are people I would like to speak to, at the very least.”

Shuri rolled her eyes and moved to the door. “Your Council would like to speak to you this afternoon. They are not very pleased with your… political refugees.”

“I am ready to speak to them, of course,” T’Challa sighed. He only hated about eighty percent of the Council, at least. Better than the way he hated practically one hundred percent of petition days, mostly because the upper class always tried to horn in on it. Petitions were symbolic, of course; most people who came to the petitions didn’t have seriously important issues to bring before the king. The idea was that anyone _could_ bring a petition to the king, and have it heard. The problem was that too many people who already had his ear and his time tried to shove their petitions through, and it frustrated him.

Another problem to deal with, but if he could do that, he could could speak to Rogers and Romanoff about Tony. He was more looking forward to speaking with Romanoff, particularly – she was both a worthy opponent and someone who understood political intrigue and intricacies. Rogers, for all that he was a good war leader and excellent strategist, had not the diplomacy or maturity to consider multiple points of view.

…T’Challa was too young to be acting this old.

Heaving another sigh, he stood up and exited his office. There was a dining room area on the lower floor, of course – a long table, and an almost buffet-style lunch set-up – but he made his way to the kitchens to see if he could sneak out some of the best desserts the kitchen always had saved up for the dinner meal.

When he stepped into the kitchens, he found that the dessert that night would be a particular favorite of his: a Moroccan sweet made of toasted grains and honey. However, it was not like a cake or a pastry, where the batter was easy to sneak. Chased out of the kitchen by his cooks, he made his way into the dining area and nearly walked into Romanoff.

“Your highness,” she said, eyes widening in the only giveaway that she was surprised. “It’s interesting to see you down here.”

“Yes,” he said gravely, moving over to the table and taking a plate, serving himself from the covered, warming plates that had cuts of lamb, rich curries, rolled leaves stuffed with pine nuts and richly seasoned goat. “My sister has taken me to task for missing too many meals.”

Romanoff’s eyes warmed as she stood off to the side – there were others of his household, two nieces and a second cousin, sitting at the table and chattering with one another, ignoring the two of them, and two of his refugees, Lang and his daughter, were talking with one another at the end of the long table – and she replied, “Well, this _is_ only the third time I’ve seen you eat with others. The princess and the Dora Milaje so often bring food to you. But you were out of the country this past week or two?”

“Mmm,” he murmured, sitting down with his plate and taking the silverware in hand. “Another draft of the Accords, more debating and negotiating. I would fax in my changes, and video conference every so often, but I decided a personal touch was needed.”

His answer clearly surprised her; she visibly flinched a little, and then moved over to take a small plate, put a few finger foods on it, and sat down. T’Challa was patient; he knew Romanoff had been anxiously searching for news on Tony and on the Accords, and he had deliberately not put his money or his support to allow her, or any of the political refugees, to reconnect with the world beyond what they could do on their own. Ross’s threats against Wakanda had not stopped, even now – he knew if he put any of his tech or resources in the rogue Avengers’ hands, and Ross found them, the United States would have legitimate grievance against Wakanda. T’Challa wasn’t going to give America that opening, which meant that he knew Romanoff had been slipping through the borders with passports she owned, and that she’d been trying to gather information while Ross was actively searching for her, more so than some of the other rogues because she had switched sides.

She sighed, and he knew she had decided to give in to her curiosity. “I didn’t know you were still working on the Accords, what with taking Steve in, and his ragtag group.”

“That includes you,” he remarked casually, taking a forkful of the lamb stew on top of the pilaf.

“True,” she murmured, and took a bite of the meat-filled pastry. “Does Steve know you’re still working on the Accords?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her, distinctly unimpressed. “I do not consult Steve Rogers for anything, Romanoff. Least of all working on the Accords my father _and I_ drafted – and the Accords have their place. They are important. I have not changed my position from their necessity.”

With a small hum, she nodded, and then let out a small breath. “How is Tony?”

He looked up from his food, his serious gaze meeting her hopeful one. “He’s exhausted. Pushed to the limit. And he is alone.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, her eyes falling shut. “He’s strong. One of the strongest civilians I’ve ever seen.”

“No human can be strong on their own forever,” T’Challa said, almost bluntly.

“He’s not on his own. He has—”

She stopped, voice trailing off, and grimaced. He didn’t even look at her, focusing on his food, and she huffed. “Alright, you can stop being smug. But he does have Vision and Spiderman, you know. He doesn’t have to do it on his own.”

“Be that as it may, he is tired. The time we had together, I worked to undo the wear and tear, but he has no one keeping him grounded. He is a workaholic, and I hope to convince him to slow down.”

“Slightly ironic, coming from someone who’s stayed locked in his office working,” Romanoff muttered under her breath, and set her meat pastry down, delicately wiping her fingers on the napkins placed on the table. “You brought this up for a reason, though.”

He inclined his head, pouring himself a glass of sparkling water and taking a sip. “I did,” he admitted. “Tony asked whether you or Rogers put me up to court him.”

“You’re – _courting_ him?” Romanoff said, and that was the first genuine surprise and shock he’d seen from her, ever.

With a chuckle, T’Challa set the cup down. “Yes. I am aware he is older than I, but I admire him greatly, and he is very brilliant.”

“I’m sorry – I didn’t – he asked whether I put you up to it? To courting him?” she asked.

He hummed his agreement. “You, or Rogers.”

She frowned at her plate, and shook her head slowly. “Me, maybe. I was – well, I had tried to get him to move on his crush after Pepper broke up with him. But why Rogers?”

“You told him to move on?” T’Challa asked, feeling slightly guilty about talking about Tony with someone who, in essence, deserted him.

She laughed a little, unbending from her very cool, very professional demeanor she had always had with T’Challa. “I seem to be the matchmaker on the team. I think it’s necessary, because if people are getting regularly laid it cuts down on the gripping tension that always seems to run underneath everything.”

He opened his mouth to ask and hesitated. It wasn’t any of his business, not really.

She, of course, realized almost immediately what he had been about to ask. “That’s why I was – surprised, at what you said he said. Because I would try to tell him to talk to his crush, to start up a relationship. It never went anywhere, but… I have a feeling his crush knew about Tony’s feelings. Whether he felt the same back or not—”

“He?” T’Challa asked, lifting an eyebrow. It was both a good sign and a bad one; good, that Tony still was interested in men (in his wilder youth, T’Challa had seen more than one man in Tony’s bed, but that had calmed down as he grew older), and bad, in that it was obviously someone Tony saw often if Romanoff not only picked up on it but encouraged Tony to talk to whoever it was.

Romanoff pushed away from the table and stood up. “Rogers,” she admitted. “He had a crush on Rogers.”

***

Back in his office, he considered his options.

Well, that was misleading. Considering his options made it sound like he was thinking about backing out, and he most definitely wasn’t thinking about that. But he was taking this new information, putting into place the desperate need and nervous energy he had seen in Tony in the conflict that had happened with the Accords, understanding the interplay between Tony’s interactions with the Captain, from the first conflict with chasing Barnes down to the last, terrible conflict in Siberia.

That explained… a lot more of Tony Stark’s actions, and it also somehow explained less.

Regardless, he knew now that Tony had feelings for Rogers. He’d seen Captain Rogers a few times since putting Barnes back into cryo-sleep, enough to form opinions about the young man. And young man was the correct term; Rogers was naïve, in a way – certain in his rightness, in his ability to make the world be fair, in his capability to force people into the mold he deemed was acceptable. He was, above all else, someone who fought for what he believed was right. Yet his stubbornness made it difficult for him to do anything other than always believe he knew best, no matter the situation. Even in cases where he had little to no experience, he still remained skeptical of other people’s opinions and recommendations. T’Challa had respected the Captain’s ability to follow through, but had definitely seen the flaw in Rogers’s way of thinking.

This is what he was up against, in Tony’s mind. This was who he’d have to define himself against, contrast himself to, in order to make sure that Tony was not still pining for someone who did not appreciate him or his genius.

…And T’Challa was biased himself, in his own way, but he figured he could be forgiven for being protective of Tony at this point.

Of course, Romanoff had said she had tried to talk Tony _into_ speaking to Rogers, and that she _thought_ Rogers knew about the crush, but T’Challa could hear in between that. It was entirely likely that Rogers was wholly unaware of Tony’s feelings, and equally as likely that he knew but did not feel the same way, and so never broached the topic.

In any case, none of this altered his plan one iota, only let him know he was going to be very possessive of Tony should he ever successfully get Tony to come to Wakanda for a visit.

Shuri entered, this time with an eyebrow raised. “Do I want to know?” she asked, handing him a message – confirmation from his order.

To her credit, he blushed ever so slightly, and shook his head. “You don’t disapprove of the match, so allow me to pursue him as I see fit.”

“I don’t know if I approve, either,” she said, and for the first time her voice was serious, less teasing little sister and more princess, leader of the people, and current Black Panther. “While I admit I expected you to dally with him, you haven’t been serious about someone in years. He’s easily ten years older than you – more, if you think about it. He has multiple obligations that can be at odds with your own. You are both stubborn, fiercely intelligent, and unlikely to yield even when you may be wrong. I can see that the eleven days with him was not enough for you, but I worry you want too much.”

He met her gaze, searching for the right words that would explain. “When I first heard about him, I was twelve, and his paper on the theoretical method to purify saltwater cheaply seemed so simplistic, I couldn’t understand why everyone else wasn’t using it. I came to realize that his degrees were all in robotics, not the wet sciences of biology and the natural world, and his paper was seen as an overreach, someone using their money to get published instead of their merits. I began reading his other papers, and many of the concepts were extremely advanced. His work has always had a delicacy that intrigued me, Shuri.”

“I am not asking about your childhood crush, or your current admiration,” she said, and he remembered abruptly that Shuri had always been picked to be the Black Panther. He may have worn the mantle, briefly, to hunt down his father’s killer, but her aggression and dedication to the hunt had made her the clear choice, while his heart and his steadiness had made him the clear choice for successor to the throne. “I am asking about the man he is today, and the man you are today.”

“Tony Stark is someone I could see myself marrying,” he said, finally, baldly. “He is on my level, and understands obligation. He knows when to bow to pressure and when to take a stand. He is a good match, and I believe he is worthwhile in pursuing. I want to give him peace, Shuri.”

After a long moment, she sighed and shook her head ruefully. “I don’t know why I thought this would be a simple affair,” she lamented, rolling her eyes up at the sky.

“I don’t know why, either,” he muttered.

Clucking her tongue, she slapped the back of his head – gently. “You could never do things by halves. Invite him over some time. He is more behaved since Iron Man, and I feel I will like him a little more now.”

At the doorway, she stopped and remarked, “You have a gift waiting for you.”

T’Challa let out a sigh. “What is it this time?” he said, dreading the answer a little since he was already behind in the gift-giving game.

“Not what. Who.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I feel very bad bc I've been behind on answering comments, but not only that, but everyone was so hopeful the visitor would be Tony, and I'm here to spoil it that it's not - Tony is not going to be super comfortable going anywhere near the former Avengers for a while yet. I feel bad now that I chose someone other than Tony, since so many people were hoping it was Tony.
> 
> I'm so sorry

Wakanda was seven hours ahead of New York City, where the former Avengers Tower was. It was also seven hours ahead of upstate New York, which was where the former Avengers compound had been located, and of Washington D.C., which could also be where Tony Stark was.

In any case, no matter where Tony Stark was, so long as he was on the eastern seaboard, he should be only seven hours behind Wakanda’s current time, which is why T’Challa had waited until two hours after dinner – and after dealing with Tony Stark’s newest gift – to attempt to call the man personally. Tony Stark had given his phone number before this, and T’Challa had attempted to call, only to have a message taken by Tony’s AI, but hopefully this time Tony would pick up – or the AI would transfer his call.

“Hello, and thank you for calling Dr. Anthony Stark’s personal phone. One moment please.”

The voice was soft and pleasant, with a slight accent T’Challa was hard put to place. He waited, hoping he would actually hear Tony’s voice again.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Anthony Stark is currently unavailable. If you would like to leave a message, I can ensure that Dr. Stark receives it in a timely fashion.”

T’Challa sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course. Please let Mr. Stark—”

“One moment please.”

Cut off, T’Challa paused and listened to the click of the line connecting.

“Your highness?”

With a relieved chuckle, T’Challa shook his head. “I did ask for you to use my name, Anthony.”

“T’Challa,” Tony replied, and there was something like excitement in his voice. “I – did you get… did she make it?”

“Trying to pass me off beautiful women? That won’t deter me from pursuing you, I hope you realize.”

Tony laughed, and it was such a genuinely happy sound that T’Challa felt his heart warm inside his chest. “She’s very good at handling students at Xavier’s; I thought she might help… other people figure out how to drill their powers.”

“She’s very welcome here, of course. Ms. Munroe has already gotten in league with my sister,” T’Challa replied.

“I remember her highness,” Tony said, and his voice was somehow both dry and fond. “She’s given me one or five good kicks in the seat of my pants.”

Grinning, T’Challa leaned back in his chair. “I hope _my_ present arrived today.”

It gave Tony pause, and when he next spoke, there was something – shy? Surprised? Touched? – in his voice. “It’s very beautiful,” he said quietly.

Nervous, now, T’Challa explained, “The chain is, of course, rose gold, and the colors reminded me of your strength, and your commitment. It should not interfere with your engineer work, as it hangs low on the chest.”

“It’s perfect, T’Challa. I really – I really like it. Thank you.” Tony cleared his throat, and then he said, almost too casually, “Was this – the call, just saying hi, or, or thank you?”

T’Challa relaxed in the seat. “I do not know how much time before your lunch break ends, but I simply wished to hear your voice.”

There was a long pause, and then Tony let out a bark of laughter. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say.”

T’Challa laughed, and moved over to pull his papers in front of him. “My engineers are trying to pull vibranium into wire cords, to weave with.”

“What? Why?” Tony asked, sounding completely taken aback.

“You know, I never got a straight answer besides the fact that they wanted to see if they could, though they came up with a flimsy enough justification.”

“Well, that material’s not going to do it,” Tony said, sounding annoyed. “Surely they looked into the chemical composition of vibranium. It’s simple science. It’ll get brittle, it won’t hold.”

“They’re trying to see if they can make jewelry, I believe, since trinkets and the like are a good way to increase tourism, and with Wakanda slowly opening its borders, they want something unique to the country itself.”

“If they made it an alloy… but if the point is to make a luxury item that people would buy, you couldn’t just pull in any old metal.”

T’Challa just sat back and listened to Tony talk, enamored by the immediate problem-solving Tony had going on.

***

“You sent him _how_ many chocolates?”

T’Challa didn’t look up, because he knew if he did Shuri would see him blushing. “Do you have what I asked for?”

She let out a small laugh and placed the reports on his desk. “You should visit him sometime. Or have him visit here.”

***

“Tiger lilies?”

“They remind me of you,” T’Challa said, a little embarrassed.

“They filled the _entire_ living room. Do you know how large my living room is, T’Challa?”

T’Challa felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. “You sent me roses. Beautiful roses, in many colors and styles and I loved them very much. I am currently in the executive office of the King of Wakanda, Anthony. Your roses covered every flat service in the formal sitting room, the informal sitting room, and the library.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Tony cleared his throat over the phone. “Too much?”

“I took two vases to my room, and one to my office,” T’Challa confessed.

Fond warmth and a little shyness colored Tony’s voice when he replied, “I moved most of the lilies to my workshop. Some in – in my bedroom, too.”

“We do make a pair,” T’Challa laughed.

***

The video screen fuzzed a little and then Tony’s face appeared, sitting in his office. On his wrist was the watch T’Challa had bought him, and on his desk—

Tony caught the direction of T’Challa’s gaze and he colored a little. “I like it,” he said defensively.

It was a stuffed black panther, green glass eyes gazing out under tufts of silky black fur eyebrows, its body curled in a circle around a bright red heart that read ‘Paws-atively amazing!’ T’Challa had special ordered it, using some of the softest materials, and it should have arrived yesterday.

The bigger gift would be there today.

Well, bigger relatively speaking.

“How are you doing today?” Tony asked, absently putting his hand on the stuffed animal.

T’Challa smiled gently, lifted his hand to show off the beautiful, stunning cufflinks and the handcrafted watch he was wearing. “I’m greatly enjoying these lovely presents I received the other day.”

Tony looked smug, and pleased, as he murmured, “It looks good on you.”

“Of course it does,” T’Challa said, content. “You picked it.”

***

T’Challa saw the exhaustion in Tony’s face, and ached to actually reach up and stroke the man’s face, wishing to bring him to bed, to soothe the man’s nervous energy and calm his beloved down. As it stood, Tony was winding down anyway. It was ten in the morning, which meant it was oh-three hundred where Tony was, and from T’Challa’s understanding, Tony hadn’t slept for very long.

“Why don’t you head up to your bedroom?” T’Challa murmured, interrupting Tony when he realized Tony was stuttering over a concept, repeating it two or three times as he tried to force his brain to work. “We can still talk there. Your hands are shaking, _ikatana yam_.”

Tony stumbled to a stop and rubbed the back of his hand harshly across his eyes. “Yeah, I guess,” he said finally, voice a hoarse croak. “Okay. Are you – I’m bothering you, aren’t I? I should—”

“No, Anthony, you are not bothering me at all. I am very happy to speak with you.”

Tony licked his lips, and then sighed, shoulders curving inwards. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Okay. FRIDAY, have the video call follow me, yeah?”

“Of course, boss.” The voice was that same softly accented female voice, the one of Tony’s AI.

Tony made his slow way to his bedroom, the building dark and entirely empty. It was strangely intimate, watching Tony get ready for bed, watching Tony drink another cup of black coffee, watching Tony pull off his tank, baring his scarred chest. As he watched Tony, T’Challa made small talk, discussing day-to-day things about his work and his country, keeping up the background noise.

The older man sat down on the edge of his large bed, staring out at nothing, and T’Challa’s heart ached for the emptiness in Tony’s room, in Tony’s life.

“Lie down, Anthony, _ikatana yam_. Lie down.”

“The bed’s cold,” Tony whispered.

“I know, Anthony,” T’Challa coaxed. “I see the blanket, there, the red one I gave you. Take it, wrap it around you. My mother used to sing lullabies to me. Did she do the same for you?”

Tony’s mouth curled a little into a smile, and he was slowly turning into a little wrap in the middle of the bed. “She would sing all the time. I don’t remember lullabies, though.”

“Close your eyes, _ikatana_.”

It had been a long time, remembering back to his own mother who had passed away when he was still very young, but he could pull out some small songs he remembered, the tunes he could remember his father singing to him and his sister.

His voice wasn’t anything special, of course – he wasn’t a singer, and he didn’t think of himself as one, but Tony wanted his voice, wanted someone there.

Soon, he hoped. Soon, he could actually be there with Tony.

***

Tony was up late, again, but this time he wasn’t slowing down, was nervous and jittery. T’Challa had seen him like that before, and that type of energy wasn’t going to go anywhere. T’Challa might not be an engineer in the way Tony was – mechanical, with a robotic and AI slant – but he was extremely good with software and with neurology and biology. He couldn’t follow Tony’s specific jargon, but he certainly understood the broader picture, could follow everything else. And perhaps he didn’t have the specific knowledge Tony had, in terms of metal stress numbers and alloys, but he definitely understood programming and electrical relays.

As it was, he did have a meeting at ten, and it was nearly time to end the call. He hadn’t managed to slow or work Tony down, and he himself knew there were times where the inspiration of work had a hold of you. He’d call Tony closer to his dinner time, and perhaps Tony would be sleeping.

Hopefully, Tony would be sleeping. Tony didn’t sleep enough, and with each new video call T’Challa only saw Tony getting more and more worn down.

“Anthony. Tony.”

Tony looked up from where he’d been soldering. He blinked, and then grinned ruefully, the bags beneath his eyes making the brown of them seem darker, black. “It’s late for me; what time is it for you?”

“Nearly ten,” T’Challa said, laughing a little. “I’ll talk to you later, beloved. Do try to drink one of your smoothies.”

“No promises,” Tony chuckled. “Go, be a ruler, your highness.”

T’Challa kissed the tips of his fingers and touched the edge of the camera before ending the phone call. Gathering his paperwork on the Accords – yet another draft, and soon there’d be another in-person meeting, another point where they’d discuss and negotiate again – he moved to his door and opened it.

To see Steve Rogers standing there, hand raised to knock.

“Captain,” he said quietly, voice level. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I had some questions to ask about – about Bucky, and some – was that Tony?”

T’Challa held Rogers’s gaze for a long minute, trying to figure out what prompted such a strange question. Of course, if Rogers had been standing there a while, he would have heard Tony speaking – T’Challa loved to hear Tony explain things, or talk out his thought process.

“Does it matter if it was?” he finally asked.

Rogers shifted a bit, and T’Challa was once more struck by just how young the Captain was. “Well – does he know we’re here? Is he calling because – is he trying to find us?”

T’Challa let the silence stretch out a bit more before saying, eyebrow raised, “I am sure he knew immediately where you were, Captain Rogers. He is not an unintelligent man. There are very limited places you and the others could hide. But no, he was not asking after you. If you must know, he was talking to me.”

Rogers’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Did you need something, Rogers?”

“Yes – your highness, I just – I found some, some technology and some methods, to help Bucky. I wanted to bring it to you, since Natasha is not as familiar with the biological sciences as you are,” Rogers said, swallowing, and then he continued, “But I am – I am worried. That Tony – that Stark is looking for us, talking to you.”

T’Challa fought to keep his eyes from rolling, and exited the office, closing the door of behind him and walking down the hallway. “I fail to see why it’s your business, but Tony is talking to me because I am courting him.”

Rogers, who had been following T’Challa down the hallway, froze, allowing T’Challa to get ahead of him. Unfortunately, Rogers jogged to get back by T’Challa’s side when he finally recovered. “Tony – you? You two? That’s – sudden.”

Those words reminded T’Challa about what Romanoff had said, who Tony had a crush on, before. He paused, and turned to face Rogers, letting his conviction and, yes, strength and threat shine clear in his face, his tone, his eyes. “It is not as sudden as you think, but that is also none of your business. Tony deserves the world, Captain Rogers, and I firmly intend to show him I can give it to him. It is time for Tony to have someone care for him as much as someone can.”

Rogers licked his lips, and his eyes dropped down before coming back up. “You know.”

“I do. In fact, Tony thought you had put me up to it, to courting him, and it took me a while to prove him wrong. I do not need others dictating my actions. I do what I do because I want to. And I want Tony.”

“He’s not a _thing_ to, to claim,” Rogers said, indignant and belligerent.

T’Challa smiled, and it wasn’t a very nice or kind smile. “You are right. Neither is he a _thing_ to discard, but I haven’t done either one, of course.” The words _unlike you_ went unspoken.

Rogers started to open his mouth again, and T’Challa stepped forward, into Rogers’s space, making Rogers put his shoulders up. “Dear Captain, I reiterate – this is none of your business. What Tony chooses to do with me is his business, and his alone. You have no voice in this. Am I clear?”

For a brief heartbeat, T’Challa was sure Rogers was going to continue to pursue the conversation, and he was ready to let loose his anger, his pent-up frustration with Rogers – probably undeserved, but he was not willing to remain patient with someone who was so stubbornly sure they were right and deserved everything to bow their way.

But Rogers slowly blew out his breath and inclined his head. “I passed the technology on to the Princess; when you have time, it may help Bucky and get us off your hands.”

“When I have time,” T’Challa agreed, voice flat.

Clearing his throat, Rogers bobbed his head, turned on his heel, and left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.... in all fairness, this one chapter has been ready to go for like, _ever_ , it was the next (final) chapter that was giving me issues. but thanks to the WIP big bang, I got it complete! so... yay?
> 
> also we get a little anti-team steve at the end, but i tried to write it balanced. just thought you should be aware.

“Will you be in New York next week for the upcoming Accords talks? You’ll be on my turf, I can show you around, give you a taste of New York City’s high life, all that good shit.”

T’Challa rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think I will be able to that week, Anthony. I hope to visit soon, however. It has been too long since I have seen you.”

“You see me every night,” Tony said, and his tone and face were happy, cheerful, but his eyes were tired in his face. It was that tiredness, that invisible weight that sat on Tony’s shoulders, that had T’Challa making an impulse decision.

“You could visit my country.”

It was an – an impulse, completely unplanned. He knew, almost even as he said it, that Tony wouldn’t do it, could see it in Tony’s falling face and his body language. Before Tony said anything, or even looked away, T’Challa quickly pressed on.

“It, of course, doesn’t have to be soon – I know you are deeply involved in the talks. I’ve been in some talks myself – not, of course, Accords talks, but my Council has been distinctly unhappy recently, since Ross is still threatening to – I don’t even know anymore. He wanted me put on trial, and then he wanted my full cooperation with tracking down the rogue Avengers, and then he wanted trade agreements, and in general my Council does not like that I have been less firm than my father had been when dealing with outside influences.”

“It’s okay, T’Challa – I get it,” Tony said, and his smile was wry. Tired, but Tony always looked tired, and it bothered T’Challa greatly.

But there was no lie in Tony’s eyes, no hidden hurt. He meant it that he understood, and T’Challa was oddly grateful that Tony would not think that T’Challa was throwing away a chance to be near Tony again since the last conference, two and a half months ago.

“Thank you, _ikatana yam_ ,” T’Challa murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Perhaps we can meet at the next Accords gathering; I believe the next conference is in Vienna?”

“Haven’t been to Vienna recently,” Tony sighed. “Going on just all the world tours with these Accords meetings, aren’t we?”

T’Challa smiled sympathetically. “It could be worse. We could reconvene in the exact same city, time and time again, surrounded by the same people, over and over.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed out. “That does sound worse, doesn’t it?”

“I can imagine some company would not be unwelcome, however. I will see if I can clear my schedule soon.”

Tony shook his head, stifling a yawn. “Don’t feel bad. We all have responsibilities. Ross keeps crawling up my ass, after all, and there’s SI, and there’s – yeah, you don’t need to tell me about responsibilities.”

T’Challa frowned slightly, unable to completely ease the guilt of not being able to be in New York for the meetings. “When – or even if, because I do not want you to dislike visiting – you visit, we can stay at my home.”

There was a slight hesitation in Tony’s movements and he frowned. “Where are you now, if you’re not at your house?”

“The executive office of the King,” T’Challa said, both slightly confused and slightly apologetic. “I did not realize this would not be common knowledge, though I suspect I should have. The royal family is fairly large, and our estate is outside of the city, set up on the edges of the largest national land preserve. While in the heart of our capital city, the royal family stays here. There are small executive offices in other parts of Wakanda as well, though they are rarely occupied.”

Tony considered, and then shrugged. “One day, maybe, but not this week. Obviously.” He laughed a little self-deprecatingly and rubbed oil-stained fingers against the back of his neck, leaving little smears that reflected the low light of the workshop.

“Have you ever wanted a pet?” T’Challa asked, a bit sudden he knew, but he was imagining Tony by himself in an empty house, traveling alone, with his robots by his side while in the workshop but no one else.

Tony snorted. “When I was kid – doesn’t everyone? But I went to college, and then I was jetting around the world, and then I was head of SI. Pets don’t exactly fit well in for people who don’t have time for them.”

T’Challa had an idea for his next present, though he had no idea on how to have that work for Tony’s busy schedule. Maybe hire a pet-sitter at the same time?

Maybe hire a bodyguard for Tony? Protection _and_ someone that can keep an eye on the pet. A cat, he was thinking, for his little kitten, but he’d need to wait and see. It was a problematic gift at best – it had the potential to backfire spectacularly…

“T’Challa?”

T’Challa jerked out of his thoughts and blushed a little. “My apologies,” he said, a bit gruff. “I was… woolgathering.”

“It’s late for you, I know,” Tony said. “You gotta take better care of yourself, your Highness. Wouldn’t want you to collapse or something at the podium during an important speech of something, right?”

T’Challa snickered a little. “Remind me to tell you one time of when that actually happened once.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “It did?”

“Not exactly, but close enough,” T’Challa chuckled, and then bit back a yawn.

A soft smile appeared on Tony’s face, and he chuckled. “Get some sleep, your pantherness. We’ll pick this up – well, I guess not tomorrow. Since I’ll be at those meetings all day, and Pepper wants me to stop in at SI… We’ll see, I guess. Latest, after these meetings.”

T’Challa nodded. “I will talk to you as soon as I can, beloved.”

Tony swallowed hard, and then mumbled, “I love you too.”

Before T’Challa could say anything, or respond to the words – because while T’Challa had been calling Tony beloved, in English and in Xhosa all this time, he knew Tony had an issue with the sentiment and so never directly said the words, so as not to pressure him – Tony closed the video and T’Challa was left staring at the blank screen.

The smile that crept onto T’Challa’s face was goofy, he knew, but he could not stop grinning. Not even walking out into the darkened hallway and seeing Rogers walking in the distance could dim his happiness – in fact, his smile only got more smug, and he felt like he was floating back to his bedroom.

Yes, he needed to get Tony here, to his private estate, soon. He couldn’t wait.

***

For his present idea, he ended up calling Ms. Potts. It was, well, slightly disconcerting to call a CEO of a Fortune 500 company to get her thoughts on a gift idea, but in the end he had no one else to call. Vision had dropped off the radar, either because he was keeping his head low or because he was actually no longer in the Avengers compound, and Rhodes was currently at his sister’s house, completing his physical therapy there. Whether he had gone voluntarily, because he felt hounded at the compound, or because Tony had forced him out – that was the unknown. Still, that left T’Challa with no one else except Ms. Potts.

Fortunately, it was easier to get ahold of her on first try than it had been with Tony. In fact, when he called, she ended picking up before the third ring.

“Ms. Potts,” he said, a bit surprised. “This is T’Challa—”

“I could guess – is Tony alright?”

The question threw him. “Of course? Unless something happened I don’t know about.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, and then Potts’ voice returned, a bit confused. “Why are you calling me?”

“I wanted your idea on a, a gift.” He cleared his throat. “I guess.”

There was another pause, and then Potts laughed a little. “Oh, the irony.”

“I do not want to interrupt – I honestly thought I would be giving a voice message. I know that you are very busy, but I did not want to interrupt Rhodes, and I know that Tony’s new PA is not… as familiar with him, and his tastes, as you.” T’Challa cleared his throat and realized he was babbling. “In… any case, I apologize if the call is not – is bothersome.”

Potts said something indistinctly, and then laughed. “No, no, this is not bothersome. I had an assistant in my office, but she was just picking up some papers. I have about ten minutes, unless you think this will take longer?”

“No, no. Of course not.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, and then she let out a soft sigh. “So, Shuri was speaking to me earlier. Does this have anything to do with the upcoming New York trip? Shuri said she was sure you wouldn’t be able to make it.”

T’Challa opened his mouth to question that, but midway decided he didn’t need to worry. Shuri was his sister, after all, and there was no way he would be able to stop her from micromanaging his life anyway. “Well. I wanted to perhaps give Tony a dog, or a cat. Would he do well with a pet?”

There were a few moments of silence, and then Potts made an ambiguous hum. “I would have said he hated animals, but I also would have said he wouldn’t have had the patience to do a long distance relationship for over three months. So it depends on what you think. If it comes down to it, and he doesn’t like it, I know his PA has a young son; he’d pass the pet off to someone who would take good care of it.”

That didn’t help as much as T’Challa thought it would, and he sighed softly into the receiver before replying, “Thank you for speaking with me, Ms. Potts. I know you did not have to make the time.”

“As much as I know I’m not in Tony’s life anymore, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him happy – and safe. He hasn’t been safe in a long while, your Highness. I hope you plan on keeping him safe.”

The words were a veiled threat, and he could appreciate her strength as he replied solemnly, “I will do my best to ensure that he remains safe and happy for a long time to come.”

***

T’Challa opened his eyes and nearly flailed off the bed in shock. Thankfully, he dragged the covers with him in his panicked movements, and he glared at Shuri, cheeks dark red, clutching his sheets against his chest. “ _Shuri_ ,” he snarled.

She smiled, big and wide. “Your newest gift is here.”

“ _Why_ are you in my bedroom?!” he demanded hotly.

“Where else would I put it? It’s clothes, after all.”

His eyes darted sideways, and he noticed a beautifully tailored suit hanging from a rack. “Thank you, Shuri,” he said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you could leave me to dress then?”

She snickered. “If you want _my_ opinion, you should go ahead and get him a cat. That’s what you are anyway, right? A big cat?”

“ _Shuri_ ,” T’Challa snapped.

His sister left his room, thankfully, and T’Challa made sure she closed the door behind her fully before he shoved the sheets down and strode, nude, over to the suit waiting for him.

It was a much heavier cloth than he had expected, and with a small frown he ran his fingers over the suit again, hefting the weave and trying to figure out what was different about it.

A small note fell out of the other sleeve when he lifted it, and he picked up the heavy paper.

_Your Pantherness,_

_I know you say that your country doesn’t mind holding them as political refugees, and I know they’re keeping their heads down low – thanks for that, if you had anything to do with it – but I still know how much of your country dislikes your decision to keep them there. The suit should add some added protection when going before petitioners or your council. Just in case._

_Yours,_

_Tony_

T’Challa fought back the small pinpricks at the corner of his eye as he went back to sliding the cloth between his fingers, finally putting a name to what he was feeling. Lightweight body armor, woven into every single aspect of the suit, the joints with small patterns of scale armor that had been intriguing him before he knew what it was.

There was no way of Tony knowing that the Dora Milaje was in place to protect him from such an occurrence, that there was no way for any of his subjects to approach the grounds he lived on with any type of incendiary device or anything that required gunpowder without his scanners knowing. Still, Tony gave it anyway, in good faith.

He knew what he was getting Tony – maybe not now, maybe not for his next gift, but in the future – and even if Tony ended up giving the gift away, it was the spirit and the thought that mattered.

***

T’Challa was missing a phone call from his boyfriend and he was most displeased at that. Still, he tried to reign in his temper and deal calmly with the issue he was missing the call for, because it was important to talk to his guests, to make sure that they were all on the same page and understood where he stood.

The fact that his Council was still highly displeased, and that easily forty percent of his citizens disliked their presence, was only part of the reason he was forgoing his phone call to make sure he could talk with the former Avengers. The other part was because, now that Rogers had either dried up all the leads he could find about breaking the brainwashing or was taking some downtime, he was continuously roaming in the corridors and the halls, and T’Challa was getting tired of seeing Rogers look at him suspiciously. He was also beyond tired about hearing secondhand how all the refugees seemed to assume that Tony was out to get them—

He just wanted to address their behavior, ensure that they knew the rules while he was away, and make sure they had some kind of a plan, since it didn’t seem that any of them were planning on doing anything beyond sitting around and hanging out. Right now, he was worried they had nothing, and were just going to… hang out in Wakanda until they or the world decided it was time for them to be Avengers again.

“Where is Romanoff?” he repeated for the second time. “It should not take this long to find Maximoff and reach this conference room.”

“They’ll be here,” Wilson said, waving a hand. “Wanda likes to take long baths.”

“What is this meeting for, anyway, your Highness?” Rogers asked, looking down the table at him. “Did something happen?”

T’Challa shook his head. “Not particularly. I just find that I can no longer remain in this executive building – my duties call me away. I would like to establish ground rules – rules that you have been following so far, thank you, - but it never hurts to verbalize and establish that everyone is on the same page.”

Shuri leaned against the chair, silently giving him support. While he was king, she was the Black Panther and the protector of Wakanda, head of the army and the military. He had been the Black Panther for his father, and he still had the suit, the weapons, and the capability, but his country needed him. His father had never stayed in one place for so long, and regularly traveled to the other executive offices, allowing citizens from all corners of Wakanda to bring petitions without having to make a trek to the capital city.

Only he couldn’t leave, not really. Not until he knew that his… guests would behave in a way that wouldn’t have the Council or his people calling for their blood.

The door opened, and Maxmioff stepped in, followed closely by Romanoff. A tension T’Challa hadn’t been aware of eased in his belly, and he leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped in front of him on the table.

“Now that we are all here, I must make it clear that I am no longer going to be around. I have already lingered here in the capital city too long.”

“So…,” Barton said, tilting his head, “why have this meeting to tell us that? You’re barely around us as it is.”

T’Challa smiled, and it was not a very nice smile. “Because, Mr. Barton, I am the reason you are here in Wakanda in the first place. You are all under very strict instructions not to leave the executive office’s grounds, except in the event that you are leaving the country. You are not to interact with any civilians, and if you intend to stay here indefinitely, you may not attempt to contact the outside world – particularly if using Wakandan resources. My Council is already highly skeptical of your goodwill, and have been pressuring me for stricter measures; for you to remain as guests, you must reassure them and myself by continuing to lay low until some compromise can be achieved and you can move forward with your lives.”

“Compromise?” Rogers cut in, voice sharp.

T’Challa ignored the outburst. “While I am elsewhere in the country, the Council has acquiesced to your continued presence within Wakanda so long as you obey our laws and keep to yourselves. If you have need of anything, of course, inform the staff – they will attempt to provide you with your requests, within reason.”

“We are not compromising on the Accords,” Rogers slid in once more.

Once more, T’Challa decided to ignore the words, since that was not the topic or point. “I hope that, while you have this time where you do not need to worry about your next meal or having warmth or shelter, you are conceiving of a plan of action. You cannot spend your days aimlessly wandering about the grounds, after all. Well, I suppose you _could_ , but I imagine you would not want to live here for the rest of your lives. Take this time to decide what you want from the Accords—”

“We want _nothing_ to do with the Accords!” Rogers snapped, interrupting T’Challa.

T’Challa finally turned and lifted an eyebrow at Rogers. “You have a better suggestion?”

“We’re here because we all _disagree_ with the Accords,” Barton growled.

Wilson inclined his head. “We are here because you – I thought – came to see our position in… in the disagreement.”

 It wouldn’t be very dignified if T’Challa burst out laughing; instead, he fought to keep his face steady as he lifted an eyebrow and glanced around the table. “You, all of you, whom I fought against – willingly, of my own volition – assumed I suddenly disagreed with the Accords my nation proposed and put into place? Accords that I _and my father_ worked on for months, almost a full year, before submitting them to the UN? Accords that I am _still_ working on, remotely and in person? Surely you are not all that willingly blind. You are here because you are political refugees and have nowhere else to go, and because I understand your concerns even if I do not share them.” Also, here he could keep an eye on them, make sure that they did not go haring off after a shadow in the brush, swinging wildly and missing more often than not. Here, he could control their actions to a degree, and dictate terms to some extent.

If they left, of course, he would not try to hold them here. But they knew that by leaving, they opened themselves to discovery – _and_ T’Challa knew that, if they left, he would do nothing at all to protect them from any trouble they waded into on their own.

He hoped that knowledge would prevent them from walking out right now.

Lang stood up, crossing his arms. “If you’re only holding us here to babysit us, I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say thanks but no thanks. House arrest isn’t something we agree on. Your _Highness_.”

Spreading his arms and glancing around the room, he replied in the driest tone he could muster, “As I stated before, you have already been following most if not all of the ground rules I am here to say. For example, I have not once told you that you could not leave the walls of my executive offices before this. Yet you all chose to remain within these walls anyway. You and I both know that should you walk out into Wakandan streets, you risk civilians recognizing you and informing the entire world about your presence here. I know your team is smarter than that, Lang. You don’t need to get high and mighty with me. You are already here because you chose a safe place, and you do not know where else to go. It should not trouble you unduly to continue as you were yesterday.”

“Obviously, we’re not wanted here,” Rogers growled.

Shuri let out a bark of laughter from behind T’Challa’s chair. “Is that your sole, grand conclusion? Captain, you cannot be so arrogant as to think that the country that _sponsored_ the Accords in the first place would be happy to have you here? My king has decreed you are political refugees, and so the Council cannot remove you unless you become a direct threat. Should you do something… _threatening_ , Wakanda’s people would have no problem handing you over to your _own_ government.”

Romanoff leaned forward in her chair, holding T’Challa’s eyes with a sharp intelligence. “You aren’t kicking us out.”

“No, I am not,” T’Challa said calmly. He had high respect for the woman before him – a skilled fighter, an intelligent strategist. He also was unclear why she had thrown her lots in with the rest of them – and had nearly denied her entry into Wakanda at the border for her actions at the airport. However, he’d come – he had thought – to understand why she had made the choices she had. The way that she was speaking now made him highly suspicious of her, and not just suspicious, but worried she had a deeper agenda that he had not looked for and therefore was unable to plan for.

“You’re asking us to stay put. You know that the world is almost evenly split on the matter of the Accords—”

“That’s a generous estimation,” Shuri snorted under her breath.

“—so we would have support somewhere. The problem, of course, is finding that support before Stark finds us. So we have to be reliant on you, and you’re using our weaker position to dictate terms instead of negotiating them.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up into a smirk, and T’Challa said in a calm, measured voice, “I think you are all harboring under the illusion that a king _negotiates_ with refugees. I am not your peer, not here, not in this country. I am the leader of this nation. I cannot simply cater to your needs – I have already put you too far ahead of my people. I am informing you that, should you walk outside of the executive office grounds, I am not responsible for your safety any longer. You are on your own. This is not a dictation of terms, nor it is a negotiation. It is facts. Facts of which I was unsure you knew and understood. The goal of this meeting was simply to make certain that you aware, and inform you if you were not aware.”

“It sounds a lot like Natasha’s right,” Wilson interjected before either Barton or Rogers could puff up with righteous anger. “It sounds like you’re telling us that we have no choice in accepting your help.”

T’Challa counted to ten backwards in German, forcing himself not to snap the way that he would have just a few months ago. Then he breathed out slowly and said in as controlled a voice as he could muster, “You are more than welcome to go elsewhere to get help. I am informing you what I can offer you. No more and no less.”

Rogers leaned forward but paused when Romanoff put a hand on his elbow. “What I’m hearing, your Highness, is that you sound like you’re trying to put our backs up to shove us out of your country and into your boyfriend’s clutches.”

Their gazes met, and T’Challa held Romanoff’s stare until she looked away. Then he cut his eyes over the rest of the group. “Think what you will. Act how you will. I am simply informing you of the facts of your situation.”

He pushed himself into standing, slicing his eyes over the group. “If you present a threat to my people, I will have no recourse except to protect my citizenry. Do not become a threat to my people.”

With that, he exited the room, Shuri at his side. Once he stepped out of the conference room, strode down the hall, and turned the corner of another hallway, he paused and cursed, long and hard, in Xhosa, English, German, and Arabic, quickly and fluidly, words tumbling forward.

“You know my feelings about their presence,” Shuri murmured behind him.

He shot a hand out, pointing a furious finger in her direction. “ _Don’t_ right now.”

She made a humming sound.

He breathed in deep and let out a long breath before rolling his head on his neck, trying to soothe some of the tension in his shoulders.

“The Council—”

“Romanoff was not entirely wrong. Almost forty percent of the world, practically thirty-five percent of _Wakandans_ , agree with their side, disagree with the Accords. They could find help elsewhere.”

“They don’t get to demand our resources, our help, our _support_ ,” Shuri said severely. “That is not for them.”

T’Challa sighed, because Shuri was right. He was already putting the Accords and the affairs of the former Avengers before the duties of the kingdom. “You may be right, but I can’t in good faith abandon them. I can’t in good faith _allow_ them to disperse and cause more damage. So long as I can offer my help, they will remain here – and I will be able to mitigate anything they do.”

“So you _are_ trying to control us.”

T’Challa did his absolute best not to snarl at the unwelcome voice. Instead, he turned his head and glowered at Steve Rogers, who stood before him with those thick arms crossed against that powerful chest. “Is there something you want to say, Captain?”

“You want to manipulate us into staying,” Rogers snapped.

“Of course I do!” T’Challa snapped. “Stop pretending as if everyone is out to attack you, open your mind, and _think_. If you left my borders, you open yourself to manipulations from whomever you seek help from _as well as_ arrests and possible execution, depending on which country managed to snatch you up. I believe that your best choice is to remain with me, as then you do not have to worry about arrests unduly. You are more than welcome to walk, _Captain_ Rogers. No one is forcing you to stay. And, let’s be quite clear – we _all_ manipulate the people around us. Do you think, for one second, I believe you did not know about Tony’s crush on you? Do you think I believe you told your people the full story of what happened with the enhanced soldiers? Are you so secure in your conscience as to say that you do not _once_ try to get others to do what you want them to do?”

Rogers opened his mouth and then closed it.

“The rub of it is that I am not castigating you. If I believed you wholly in the wrong, Rogers, you wouldn’t be walking around my executive office freely. I would have left you in that frozen wasteland,” T’Challa snarled.

Shuri put a hand on T’Challa’s wrist, and he breathed in deep from his nose and let his breath out, long and slow.

“I didn’t mean to anger you, your Highness,” Rogers began.

T’Challa counted extra in his head.

“Rogers, there is nothing for you here,” Shuri tried to cut in.

Rogers persisted, “—but I wanted to know. _Is_ that why you decided to tell us this today? Because your boyfriend wants us out of your country to make a move?”

T’Challa stared at Rogers and realized no amount of counting would help him calm down.

“Are you suggesting that my _king_ , my _brother_ , would use – what, statement of facts? – to make you leave his country where you are staying more or less _illegally_ and are hiding? Are you really going to throw my brother’s gifts and privileges he gave you in your face like this?” Shuri hissed, stepping forward. She was not as tall as Steve, but she shoved herself right up in his face, shouldering him in his chest so he had to take a step back. “Your jealousy for this relationship is blatant. Your inability to look at this rationally has reached legendary proportions. No one should have to explain to you about reality, Rogers. Like any secondary school student, everyone expects you to draw conclusions from stated facts. I shouldn’t have to draw the lines between the dots for you. My brother shouldn’t have had to hold that meeting in the first place.”

“Then why did he?” Rogers cut in, lip curling. “Why tell us this, as if we’re children, threatening us and making it clear he is on Tony’s side—”

Shocked out of his attempts to control his temper, T’Challa threw his hands apart. “I have _always_ been on Tony’s side!” he snapped. “Rogers, do you not remember me _physically fighting your entire team_?!”

Rogers took a half-step backwards.

“You want my full, uncensored reasons for holding that meeting?” T’Challa snarled, almost wholly unaware of how his body shifted into a fighting stance. “It’s because, _Captain Rogers_ , all of you seem to be holding to the delusion that you are _infallible_. No, not you specifically, though you’re a big part of that,” T’Challa snapped when Rogers opened his mouth to reply. “Rather, I want everyone who was in that room to be well aware that they must take responsibility for their actions. You asked to keep your power in your hands. You asked for ownership. _Then own your actions_. That is all I’m asking. _And_ , one cannot own any actions if they were unaware of the consequences and results of their actions.”

There was complete silence in the hallway, and, realizing just how undignified it was to be shouting and quarreling in the corridors (he could _see_ Kareem’s face reflected in the far window, eavesdropping shamelessly), he cleared his throat and calmed his tone.

“So, if that is all, _Captain_ , I have a great many things to do to prepare for my journey. Good day.”

Turning on his heel, he stalked back towards his office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter, yay!

“You’re not getting enough sleep, _ikatana yam_. You begin to worry me. Perhaps I should come visit you in New York.”

Tony coughed and smiled at the camera. “I’m not in New York right now, darling, but for you, I could go back.”

The smile was thin, weak, and T’Challa fought not to bite his lip in worry – his etiquette teachers would have his head. Tony looked pale, and T’Challa highly suspected his beloved’s hands were shaking. Hard to say, what with the fact that Tony was flitting about like a hummingbird.

He definitely had lost weight, T’Challa thought regretfully. If there were no duties for T’Challa here, he’d be on the next flight out. But he had another petition day tomorrow, and afternoon meetings with the chief of the city for the next three days.

“What are you working on there?” T’Challa asked.

Tony’s head jerked back to look at the camera, almost as if in surprise, and then he smiled bitterly. “Another suit. Can’t seem to stop making them, anymore. Not really willing to try to stop.”

T’Challa ached to touch Tony, to do something that would alleviate the tiredness and pain he could see on Tony’s features. Instead, he twisted his mouth up into as sincere a smile as he could muster. “I’d love to see your new iterations. I may be able to make a trip to the States soon, and then I can see your new suits.”

That seemed to drag Tony’s attention away from his work in front of him, turning his body fully towards the camera. He looked a little worried, but also hopeful. “I won’t be in New York for a while. I’m… currently consulting, I guess you could say. But in a month or two, I’ll be back in the big Apple.”

“Then I suppose you haven’t received my gift yet. My next one will most likely arrive before you return as well, so you’ll get two at one time.”

T’Challa was trying to get a read on Tony’s position by using clues around Tony, but all of Tony’s workshops looked pretty uniform, without many windows to the outdoors or even the rest of the house. Giving up the fruitless search, T’Challa refocused on Tony. Tony was biting his lip – no worry about upsetting long-ago etiquette teachers – and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ahh, T’Challa, I don’t think – I won’t be able to – I’m falling behind in gifts and I don’t know what to do or when I can do it—”

“Shh, no, don’t be upset, beloved. I want to treat you, and I don’t need anything in return except to see you smile. I would want to see you happy, Tony. That’s all I want to see from you,” T’Challa said instantly, jumping in to try and derail Tony’s downward spiral. “Remember that you have a head start on gifts, yes? I am merely catching up to you.”

Tony looked as if he wanted to argue, but after a few moments he simply huffed out a breath and shook his head.

The rest of the call was mostly T’Challa attempting to draw Tony into explaining where he was, or what he was doing, or what was going on in general, and Tony fencing with T’Challa’s inquiries, deflecting everything aside. When the call ended, T’Challa was left feeling very unsettled.

He didn’t trust Ross to keep his hands off Tony, though he had trusted Tony to keep one step ahead of Ross. And, in fact, Tony _could_ keep ahead of Ross. If Ross had managed to catch up to Tony, do something to Tony, Ross must have cornered a weak point on Tony.

And Tony’s weak points were almost always the people he loved.

He stared pensively at his desk, drumming his fingers against the papers he had been looking over before Tony had called. After arguing quietly with himself for vice more long minutes, he reached for the intercom button and told his secretary to request Shuri to come to his office.

She was, technically, the Black Panther now – the head of Wakanda’s military and protection forces – so she was going over the city’s records and requests. A summary, of course, but it was important that every Black Panther oversee any complaints the public lodged against the protection forces, any strange or unusual rises in arrests for particular types of crimes, and the amount of money used against the amount of money requested. It had been something T’Challa had been particularly skilled at (he loved the logistical detailing of the reports, and compiling the data), but it was something Shuri was finding frustrating. She would welcome the interruption. And he could offer her his help, at least for these first few months as Black Panther, until she understood how to find the patterns inside the data.

Sure enough, Shuri was in his office within ten minutes. He smiled fondly as she stalked in, huffing at the incompetence and inability of officers to keep proper, chronological paperwork, and she threw herself in the chair opposite him, glowering.

“I miss the days you were Black Panther, brother,” she growled.

He laughed, though the words ached. “I miss them as well.” He always had a better mind for putting the puzzle together of the reports and the summaries, and he enjoyed watching his father negotiate with the different tribal leaders while looming behind, intimidation and protection all in one.

She rubbed her fingers against her temples. “You didn’t call me here to reminisce, brother. What did you want?”

“Well…” he trailed off, a bit embarrassed. He was their king, now – or, at least, the head of state until he proved himself before the Council of Tribes, and once he did that, _then_ he would be king – and he knew he could ask for anything he wanted… but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing or difficult to ask.

Some interest sparked in Shuri’s eyes. “Something to do with Stark, I see. What is it?”

T’Challa blew out a sigh and shook his head. “If I could,” he said quietly, “I would send you. You are more his match, and would not be intimidated by him. He would also be less intimidated by you.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, leaning forward, eyes suddenly focused. He remembered that, in their training, while he had excelled in hand to hand combat, she had always been far more tenacious and eager to get her prey than he had.

“I hope not,” T’Challa murmured quietly. “But I am worried. He hasn’t been in New York for a while, but he will not tell me where he is. Quite a few of our calls have turned into audio only, no video. When I do see him in video, he looks tired and drained. However, following the extensive reports from America, there’s next to no proof that anything at all has happened. In fact, he has had quite a few public outings, in different factories and Stark Industries’ buildings, but something feels… wrong. And I would like to quiet my mind, and my worry.”

Shuri eyed him a moment longer before letting out a sigh. “I also wish I could go to him. But give me a day to talk to the Dora Milaje. I am sure we can swing ‘protecting the future consort’ as a legitimate reason to send them to America.”

“We aren’t exactly going to be welcomed into America with open arms,” T’Challa pointed out.

Flapping a hand dismissively, Shuri stood up. “Don’t worry about that. At this point, it is more important to find someone who can withstand Stark’s immature and… _abrasive_ personality.”

For a moment, Shuri bit her lip, lost in thought, before slowly nodding. “I think I know exactly who should go. But I will ask, of course.” Rising, she glanced at T’Challa’s desk and remarked wistfully, “I would give much to return to my labs, and my studies, and not be the Black Panther anymore – but I would not trade places with you.”

“Thank you,” he replied dryly. “We all must grow up at some point.”

Smirking, she exited the room, and he sighed, staring down at the paperwork. No matter how worried he was about Tony, he had to get _some_ paperwork done.

***

“You sent me a _human_?”

“Ah, so you received my gift?” T’Challa said easily, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of the steaming mug of coffee. He was almost don the day’s work, and he was using Tony’s call as a way of deliberately ignoring the missives he’d received from the capitol earlier in the day.

Tony glared half-heartedly. “You sent me a _nanny_?”

“A bodyguard. A declaration of intent, if you will,” T’Challa replied smoothly. “I’ve been very worried about you, and you look so tired. I have been assured by the Black Panther that Raheema is not only a very talented and skilled computer engineer, but an excellent defense should anyone attempt anything.”

Throwing a glance at the door, Tony leaned forward into the camera and – not whispered, it was much softer than that, barely _breathed_ – “I’m not even in New York, T’Challa, you know that. Pepper got a message to me, but your person’s visa is definitely going to raise some flags.”

Before T’Challa could say anything else, Tony said in a much louder voice, “You can’t send me a _human_.”

“You sent _me_ a human,” T’Challa pointed out, mind racing over what Tony could mean. “Months ago. A lovely young woman named Ororo Munroe?”

Tony blinked, and then scrunched his nose up, obviously lost in thought. For a moment, T’Challa wondered if Tony even remembered, but when Tony turned slowly on the spin stool T’Challa could see an amused, fond glint in Tony’s eyes. “Mmm, nope, not ringing a bell. Maybe I gave an old friend a long, overdue vacation, but I don’t recall sending _you_ a human.”

Chuckling, T’Challa leaned back. “Will you leave Raheema to languish alone at your tower? Will you force her to go find you?”

“I’m not – she can’t _find_ me!” Tony said indignantly, feet planting suddenly enough on the stool, stopping the spin, that he nearly fell off the stool, staring at T’Challa.

“That sounds like a challenge – one she’d be happy to take on,” T’Challa remarked blandly.

Again, Tony’s eyes flickered to the side and then back down to the camera. “T’Challa, it’s not – it’s really not funny! Her visa is not one that’s really all that acceptable here, right now. You don’t know how American media is at the moment, okay? Really, it’s thoughtful that you… I dunno, would send someone to _look after me_ like I’m a child, but—”

“Ah, perhaps that is where the problem is,” T’Challa interjected.

“What?” Tony asked, blinking.

“That you assume she’s coming to look after you. She is coming in the capacity of a bodyguard, and an avid scientist. No other motives.” T’Challa twirled a pen in his fingers. “In fact, in a month or two I can come visit you myself.” Given that the missives were from the capitol, and were probably more tribal leaders and chieftains complaining about having political refugees living in the castle, his trip to New York may have to wait, but he could hope for positive letters.

Tony hesitated, glancing down at the pieces of circuitry he was holding and back up, and then he said quietly, “Why would I need a bodyguard? I have my own. The Dora Milaje are for the King of Wakanda.”

“And his chosen consort,” T’Challa answered gently. “Did you think this was not permanent? I am courting you with the eventual hope to marry. You are a potential consort of Wakanda. You deserve the highest level of protection – because if anyone harms you, in any way, they are personally harming Wakanda.”

He hadn’t realized that he had raised his voice, that he had leaned forward, until he saw Tony’s eyes wide, pupils dilated, hand almost reaching out to the picture – and then he realized his fists were clenched on his desk, and how close he had come to the camera, how the silence was suddenly echoing instead of merely welcoming.

Clearing his throat, he sat back down, forcing his hands to relax. “So, _ikatana yam_ , I am not sending you a nanny. I am protecting my beloved. The same way you would protect me, I have no doubt – as you already sent me a suit deliberately designed to protect.”

Tony’s eyes were soft, glittering with what almost looked like tears, and he coughed a little, as if also clearing his throat. “Well. If you feel so strongly about it. I may, perhaps, find my way back to New York soon.”

“Raheema is more than able to come to you if need be,” T’Challa said quickly, dismissively waving his hand. “There is no need to disrupt your work.”

“No, no – don’t worry. I can leave. It should be – it _is_ fine. It will be fine. Don’t worry. Don’t let her come – don’t have her come looking for me. She shouldn’t put herself out like that. For me.”

T’Challa raised an eyebrow, but shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, my beloved. You look happier today.”

“Well, I was… I was nearing the end, anyway. It was only supposed to – the project was only supposed to be for a month. So this is just me overstaying my welcome.”

When the call ended, T’Challa waited barely two minutes before he called Raheema’s cell phone.

“Raheema speaking,” she said promptly.

Talking in rapid-fire Xhosa, the better to keep others from understanding what they were saying, he said quickly, “I am nearly positive your charge has been detained by Ross, but enough pressure by my calls and now your presence will force him to release Stark. You are to remain in New York for three days. I expect you to do your best to find out where Stark has been before this, but if he returns in three days, do not pursue or extract punishment.”

“And if three days pass?” Raheema asked solemnly, still in English – indicating she was near or around people she wanted to keep ignorant of the fact that she was on the phone with her king.

“Then find and defend your charge. Additionally, as you are aware, your nationality is apparently suspicious in America. Be careful. Your safety is your first priority, even if it would put my consort at risk.”

“Respectfully, I disagree. I shall study diligently.”

T’Challa smiled. “I thank you, Raheema.”

“My pleasure.”

T’Challa hung up and sighed. He had three more provinces to visit, and he did not want to go to New York with the political refugees in Wakanda creating trouble, but he could hope that he would be able to visit New York soon.

***

“This is smaller than I expected,” Shuri murmured.

T’Challa looked up to see his sister standing in the doorway. “I’m busy, Shuri. I need to complete these reports and sign the budget—”

She lifted the box in her hand. It was small, perhaps no longer than a sheet of paper, and half as wide. It was as thick as a book, however, and it was tied shut with a golden ribbon.

“…What is that?” he asked.

“I thought you were busy,” she remarked airily, fingers drifting to the bow. “Since you are so busy, I can see if this truly merits your attention—”

He let out an inarticulate growl, and, laughing, she approached his desk, setting the box down in front of him. “Here you go, big brother. I was beginning to worry; he hasn’t sent very many gifts in a while.”

“He is most likely sending anything to the capitol,” he murmured, but he too had been nervous – since finding out Tony was out of New York, the gifts had come to a complete stop, and since T’Challa had laid out clearly that he intended to court and marry Tony, the calls had also stopped.

…That one may have been a coincidence. Perhaps. It had only been five days, after all, but normally T’Challa’s calls were promptly answered. The only saving grace thus far was that Raheema had confirmed Tony’s return to New York before the three-day deadline.

Taking the box carefully, he undid the ribbon and pulled off the top to see a metal creature, almost the full length and depth of the box. With a frown, he reached in and lifted the creature out.

It was a beautifully detailed little housecat, matte black with painted-white feet, made to look like stockings. Its eyes were closed, looking like it was asleep, and its tail was practically as long as its body. Its legs were curled underneath it, and flipping it over revealed a dim, blue, circular glow in its chest.

“The tail, brother!” Shuri said excitedly.

Closer inspection revealed the tail was designed to plug into what looked like a USB wall charger. Confused – there was no instruction booklet, nothing but the highly detailed, reposed, asleep creature inside the box – T’Challa tried to pull one of the legs down, only to be met with resistance. The joints appeared to be locked, and the metal looked delicate, so he stopped and instead tried to pull the tail out from where it was tucked underneath the legs and body.

That moved easily – it was segmented, like the neck of a lamp, and though it could not perfectly bend in half, it could curl out from where it was tucked, and so T’Challa, hunted around for a wall charger and then plugged the tail in.

There was a soft whirring noise, and then the small cat’s eyes opened in a slow, controlled blink, glowing like green jewels. “Initializing: Kinetic Intelligence Technology, Test One. KIT-T1 online.”

Shuri and T’Challa stared at the small creature, and then Shuri began cackling.

T’Challa put his hand protectively over the creature – its body was as long as his forearm, and its tail doubled its length – and tried, unsuccessfully, to glare her into silence. “Stop laughing, Shuri,” he said severely.

“He _named it KITTY_!” she howled, falling out of her chair, giggling hysterically.

T’Challa opened his mouth to respond when the creature shivered once and then turned its head to T’Challa. Its eyes opened wide and a scanning light shot out. “King T’Challa recognized; designation: primary user.”

“There’s no instruction manual anywhere,” T’Challa mused as the creature stood up and _stretched,_ as if it was a real cat. Slowly, it pulled its tail free from the charger and padded across the desk. Sitting upright, tail curling around its paws, it opened its eyes wide and a hologram projected forward.

“Hey, there – a kitty for my kitty, I thought, right? My – well, anyway. I thought it was cute. KIT will be a valuable asset for you. If people, you know, if I’m yours, well… you’re mine, you know, and so, well. KIT will help. KIT can translate most major languages – not great, of course, but, you know, not badly either – and has scanners for heat signatures, radar, a taser option. Its designed to be able to ride around on your shoulder or follow behind you; it will stick around. It’s a learning program, as well, but – well, I learned my lesson, you don’t need to worry. It can’t connect with the internet, can’t upload or download anything, not even instructions. Everything has to be done manually. You can fiddle with the code if you want – I know you can – but. Anyway. KIT, say hi.”

The hologram cut out, and then KIT-T1 blinked twice and the rigidity disappeared from its chassis. “Hello, your Highness. I am KIT, your aide in your daily life. I hope our interactions will be mutually beneficial.”

Touched deeper than he could admit, T’Challa picked up the small cat-creature and tucked it into his arms. Shuri was sobbing with laughter on the ground and he lifted his nose regally. “Stop that incessant noise, Shuri, it is unbecoming of a princess.”

Squeaking in breaths, Shuri staggered to her feet and flapped her hand at him. “You – _hah_ – you look _ridiculous_ , brother – _ahahah_ – with that – _hah_ – that _kitty_ in your – _ahah_ – your hands—”

“Don’t speak to me or my cat like that,” T’Challa said, with the straightest face he could manage.

Chortling, Shuri exited the room.

The – KIT lashed its tail, and then tilted its head up at T’Challa. “User designation?” it inquired.

“That is Shuri, my sister,” T’Challa chuckled. “Friendly. Not a threat. Aren’t you a beauty.”

The damn thing puffed its chest out proudly.

***

“You need to stop sending people to me,” Tony complained.

“Hello, Tony. How are you, Tony. I’m doing fine, Tony,” T’Challa teased gently, twirling his pen on his finger as he smiled into the camera. Tony definitely looked a bit heavier – a bit _healthier_. It was a good idea, sending one of his top chefs to Tony to make sure his beloved was eating well.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just saying, I know you’re a king, but you just sending people at me – you don’t need to find me playmates. You could just come to New York, you know.”

T’Challa sighed, looking down. “I wish I could, my beloved. I sincerely wish I could.”

After a beat of silence, Tony swallowed jerkily and nodded. “Yeah, I know. You’re very busy, and hell, I’ve been running after these Accords – I don’t think I’ve spent more than two days in the past three weeks in something other than a hotel room.”

“How has it been?” T’Challa asked softly, leaning back in his chair. “Any more snags?”

Tony shrugged, a bit despondently. “I – honestly, the biggest snag is fucking Ross. I can’t get anyone on board while it looks like I’m in bed with him, and it’s impossible to divorce the bastard since we’re both from the same country. I’m halfway to applying for citizenship from _literally any other country_ so that I can finally get a move on some of this shit.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he stared tiredly at the desk in front of him – he was in a fairly luxurious looking hotel room, with the entirety of the large bed behind him covered in papers, folders, and a briefcase, and the desk before him blanketed in paper as well.

The Vienna conference on yet another iteration of the Accords was in two days, and T’Challa was aware that Tony had been traveling to various nations in a short span of time, attempting to get them on board with his proposed changes. T’Challa would have to ask for yet another copy to review and edit – as the nation who introduced the Accords, and the nation that had the political power to sway many, if not the majority, of other nations for or against the new iteration – and he was running out of time and patience. He still had to confirm his position as king, make sure that Shuri was confirmed as the Black Panther, and he had to prove to his people that he not only could lead them confidently, but that he had received adequate compensation for the death of his father.

But, as much as the Accords would move towards that last, he had to first confirm his position as king, and the Council of Tribes was in a week. He could not leave now.

Instead, he let out a small sigh. “I wish you would take some time to relax. Take a long bath, loosen some of that stress from your muscles. You think I can’t see it, _ikatana yam_ , but I can.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, but his eyes were warm, if tired, when he looked up. “I see you like my little Test One, huh?”

T’Challa looked to the side, where KIT was curled up much like a housecat, tail flickering as if a real cat. “I love it, Tony. The level of detail – this is pure artistry. I would have you do nothing but make such beauteous creations for the rest of your life, never having to deal with all that tires you. Simply making art for art’s sake.”

Tony looked – stunned, eyes wide and blinking. “Wow,” he said, trying to cover his surprise. “That sounds – vaguely creepy.”

Before T’Challa could apologize (as that had not been his intention in the _least_ ), Tony looked down and away. “And it sounds peaceful,” Tony added, voice barely a murmur.

“All I wish for you is for you to do what pleases you. No stress, no pain. No – slamming your head against the brick wall that Ross continually places in front of you.”

Tony glanced back at the camera. “Rahooma giving you daily reports, I gather?”

That had T’Challa sitting upright, leaning close to the camera. “No, in fact. No, she merely calls often to talk to her sister and partner. In fact, were she to report to anyone, it would be Shuri. Why?” T’Challa continued, voice gaining a dangerous edge. “How often _has_ Ross been bothering you?”

“Oh, gee, will you look at the time,” Tony mumbled, clearing his throat. “No, not bothering really. Just trying to figure out how to work around him, how to handle him, the usual. You know.”

T’Challa didn’t press, if only because he couldn’t do much about it. Once his confirmation was over, he could do a lot more, but for now… not much. Letting out a slow, controlled breath, he shook his head. “I am glad to see you getting along together,” he opted for instead.

Tony brightened up, and T’Challa knew, objectively, that Tony did not have very many people left to him that he viewed as friends. He must have grown very close to Raheema, to call her by her nickname, and T’Challa was glad to see that Raheema was getting along well with him. But Tony’s obvious excitement about having someone who joked with him, who forced him to train – as Tony was describing the training, T’Challa was sure Raheema was going easy on him, getting him used to the movements and focusing on calming exercises more than anything – and who interacted him in any positive way…

He really needed to see Tony, as immediately after his confirmation as he could.

In any case, they talked for another thirty minutes before Tony caught one of T’Challa’s yawns and insisted on letting him go.

“Don’t think I don’t know something important is happening. I may not know everything going on in Wakanda—” Tony’s nose scrunched in annoyance that he was unable to hack into or otherwise figure out what was going on in Wakanda, and T’Challa wished he could lean forward and peck a kiss on that nose, “—but I know enough that you’ve been building up to something important. I don’t know when—”

A split-second of something that T’Challa was willing to call insanity seized T’Challa, and he blurted out, “I am going to go through the Trial of Confirmation. In a week. Or thereabouts.”

Almost immediately, he blushed and bit his lip. Wakandan rituals and technology were intensely private; it was not something to simply _blurt out_ to anyone.

“Trial of Confirmation?” Tony asked hesitantly.

And if Tony had prompted him specifically – if Tony had leaned forward in interest, if Tony had done anything _except_ sound hesitant, as if unsure if Tony even had the right to ask – T’Challa would not have continued at all.

Well, his left foot was already wet. May as well continue.

“Yes – in general, my position is respected, but carries no real legitimacy beyond respect. In order to be truly accepted as king, I must win the right to sit on the throne fairly. My father went through it, and the Council of Tribes meets every three years to allow challengers to the throne to voice their greivances.”

“You’re not king… yet?” Tony asked, looking confused. “You sign all the documents – you were going to all the major cities, and signing legislation, hearing petitions…?”

T’Challa sighed, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead. “I believe the best example would be to say I was… I _am_ an interim king? Until I defend my claim to the throne formally, I will only ever be an interim king. If I were married, my children would not benefit from the protection of the Dora Milaje; my tribe currently does not fly their flag over the executive offices, and not all Dora Milaje are protecting me. Only the Dora Milaje that come from my tribe.”

“So, anyone can become king? Anyone could challenge, and become the king? Could you get… hurt?” Tony asked, and his voice shook a little.

T’Challa’s heart swelled. “Anyone can challenge. Wakanda is not a monarchy; we are a collection of tribes, agreeing to work with one another for the betterment of the whole. Each tribe oversees different areas of Wakanda, and we all treaty with one another. My tribe has only held the throne for the past two generations; I would be the third. Any eligible male from any of the tribes can seek the kingship. The Trial of Confirmation generally begins with myself standing alone, and if anyone wises to challenge me, they approach. Each challenge is a day long – and can be addressed in many different ways. It does not have to be physical combat. Additionally, it is likely – or, perhaps not likely, but _possible_ – that the tribes believe I am doing a good job, and do not challenge my claim to the throne.”

“But in three years, someone may challenge you again?”

“Every three years,” T’Challa confirmed. “What good is a king that does not care for their people? If I am doing a bad enough job, I will be challenged in three years. If I am doing an acceptable job, I may still receive challenges but not as many. If I have managed to placate the tribes – unlikely, but, again, possible – I may not receive any challenges and instead the Trial of Confirmation is only a day long.”

Tony shifted anxiously. “I feel like I should be there. Can you take things with you to the trial? Can KIT come and help?”

“Sometimes the Trial of Confirmation will be physical, in which case we can bring our own weapons and our own skills, so yes, but I would not jeopardize such a wondrous creation. Do not worry, _ikatana yam_. If I was truly worried, you would know. I do not believe there will be any serious challengers – at least, none that I cannot take myself. To challenge, they must be approved by their tribe. Well… they do not need to be approved, but if they challenge outside of the approved process, they can only challenge to unseat me; they cannot take the throne themselves, even if they win. They need the approval of their tribe to sit on the throne in any capacity.”

“Makes sense,” Tony murmured. He looked away for a brief minute, breathing out long and slow. Finally, he looked back at T’Challa. “There’s not much I can give you to help you, in any case. I’m well aware that many of my weapons and designs, if not all of them, are nowhere near the weapons and designs that Wakanda boasts.”

Immediately, T’Challa clucked his tongue chidingly. “No, beloved, you are not as far behind as all that. There are many designs you have sent to me as gifts, and they give my labs such a wonderful time while they attempt to put your vision together. Our technology may be different, but that does not mean your technology is lesser.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow and said, voice drier than a desert, “And yet you would not take my designs for air vehicles of any kind.”

“Of course not; our air support is vastly…” T’Challa trailed off, and licked his lips. “I see the point you are making, but I appreciate anything you would send, my beloved. Considering that I will announce my intentions to you before the tribes, it is not like they would be unaware in any case.”

Licking his lips nervously, Tony shuffled papers, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “It’s not a good thing, hitching your name to mine right now. I don’t know if your nanny – no, you said she wasn’t reporting to you. But my name is not worth much in American media.”

“Frankly,” T’Challa replied, quietly but firmly, “I do not care what the _American_ media think. I do not even care what the whole world thinks. I know who I chose for my consort. Nothing can change that – except you.”

For one heart-racing, stunning moment, Tony looked up, eyes bright with tears, so expressive that T’Challa could almost imagine Tony was physically next to him. Then Tony sniffled slightly and cleared his throat.

“I love you,” Tony whispered, quietly and each word said with extreme deliberation. “You’re – I can think of so many reasons why this won’t work out, _so many_ , but you make me believe—”

Interrupting deftly, T’Challa said inexorably, “I also worry you would reject me, constantly, but I trust you, Tony. _Ikatana yam_. My beloved. I worry, I miss you, I ache for you, but I trust that I will see you soon.”

“I trust that, too,” Tony murmured, voice choked up a little. After another heartbeat, he said quietly, “I’m hanging up now, because I know you are tired, because I want you – I want you safe, especially for this Trial that’s happening – because I love you. I _love you_.”

The phone call ended reluctantly, on both ends, but T’Challa went to bed lighter than air.

***

Shuri glowered at T’Challa. T’Challa, currently seeing double of her, tried his best smile out on her.

“Don’t you smile at me, you moronic goat,” she snarled, and if it wasn’t clear that she was holding KIT tightly, scared and nervous, he might be offended. As it was, it _had_ been arrogance that had led him to his current injury – he had not really thought X’Hara would be that big of a challenge. It meant that X’Hara had managed to snap a fist solidly into his face.

“You don’t even _deserve_ this gift,” Shuri sniffed.

That snatched T’Challa’s attention from the medic that was cleaning blood from the cut on his forehead. “A gift? It reached me here?”

Shuri muttered something highly uncomplimentary under her breath – the medic gasped and the surprise made him jostle T’Challa’s wound – and ground out, “You do not deserve it. Any of it. You should know that you are a fool and you cannot expect me to suffer fools.”

“What? What is it?” he said, trying to stand up and feeling his ankle twinge painfully.

“Your _High_ ness,” the medic hissed out, trying to hold T’Challa down.

“You have three more challenges. Three more days. But I can give you this now.”

T’Challa took KIT from her hands, and looked up at her piteously. “How can you treat your king like so?” he asked.

“The pain is making you loopy. You have three more challengers before we can call you king in truth.” But she cradled his head gently, her thumb running over his cheek. “Your gift is waiting for you at your quarters. As is T’Kantu.”

T’Challa heaved a sigh. T’Kantu was one of the more revered elders in his tribe, and the one who had taken the announcement of T’Challa’s chosen consort the hardest. He was very traditional and conservative; in general, Wakanda was progressive, but that didn’t mean that the elders were always as welcoming as the younger generation were. “Will my present survive T’Kantu’s presence?” he mumbled, standing again. This time, the medic simply threw up his hands and let him go – clearly tired of trying to keep T’Challa still and stationary.

“It will.” Shuri led the way out of the medic tent, the Dora Milaje waiting to escort T’Challa up the path to his quarters, situated at the top of the mountain. Each tribe had their own sprawling manor house, at various points off the path, but the challenged king could not sit in any manor house, for fear of either an unfair fight, or for elevating one tribe above the others. Therefore, he had to go all the way to the top and under his own willpower; part of his challenge was, of course, showing he could make the trek back to his quarters, no matter how punishing his challenge that day had been.

Up in the study, he went straight to T’Kantu, getting it out of the way. It was not much more than trying to assuage T’Kantu’s issues with homosexuality in general, and that succession could still be kept in the tribe in specific. It didn’t help that much of Wakanda remembered Tony’s father, and that he had taken stolen goods from Klaw to make the shield that Captain America had wielded in the second World War – but T’Challa had made up his mind, and he loved Tony. He could not _wait_ to be done with this, and fly to New York and actually, _finally_ , see Tony again since that week in Geneva, almost nine months ago.

When T’Kantu finally left, he turned to see the large package on his desk, and the smaller packages stacked on top of it. Like an eager child, he took the top package and quickly opened it.

Inside were a stunning pair of cufflinks, gleaming black with gold accents, and they looked handmade. Setting the box aside, he picked up a slightly larger box and found two fairly heavy, almost thick and chunky, bracelets. Curious, he placed them on either arm and they hummed. It took him only a few seconds to unlock them – and they unfolded smoothly into bracers, glittering black and gold metal protecting his arms. Inordinately pleased, he retracted the bracers back into the bracelets, and then opened the next box. In _that_ box, there were a pair of finely tooled boots – also very heavy. Putting them on, he found out that they allowed him to, like Iron Man, lift up from the ground.

 _Rocket boots_ , he thought fondly, because of _course_ Tony would send him rocket boots. Considering that these would give him an advantage in his challenges, he would be wearing them tomorrow.

But the largest box now held his attention, and he opened it.

And stared.

Because in the box was Captain America’s shield.

_Your Highness,_

_And yeah, I know that you asked me not to call you that, but I feel like some things need to be said._

_Contrary to popular belief, I’m, I’m very aware of what people think of me. Not just here in America. It’s not just the American media, and you know that. More than enough people in the world hate me for what I have done, or what I am doing, or even, or even you know, what my father did._

_I don’t want my father or, or anything hanging between us._

_Maybe Natasha told you. I bet she did. She’s not a bad person, she’s just, she just knows that of the two of us, of all of us, Steve won’t compromise. I will. I guess that makes sense. I don’t hold a grudge against her. Hell, if I did I wouldn’t be working so hard on the Accords – but that’s off topic._

_I’m sure Nats told you. I’m, well. I used to like Steve, okay, well, and I said used to, and I mean it. But I didn’t, I wanted you to know, in case she didn’t tell you. But she’s pretty smart. She’s already gotten in contact with me, so._

T’Challa hadn’t known that. Slowly, he sat down, the note in his hand, staring at the bright blue and red colors reflecting the light.

_Anyway, the important thing is… is that I was holding this. I dunno, maybe to make Steve come back, maybe just to punish him, I don’t know. I don’t care anymore._

_I love you. And he’s really not that important to me anymore. So, well. I know that the shield was, I mean, my father didn’t personally steal it, but he knew it had been stolen, and so, well. I don’t know the exact price of vibranium. It’s not like you sell it, in my defense, but that’s the problem._

_So I estimated. $10,000 a gram, about. I rounded up. Might as well, right? Plus interest. So, all told, I want, I want this to kinda square my father’s debt to your country. I want us to just be us. I don’t want this hanging over my head, because it will be, I know people. I know – well. Anyway._

_You can do what you want with the shield. I just hope – one day, we’ll need Captain America again. We’ll even need the Winter Soldier, I’m sure. I know something’s out there. I saw it. I know people think I’m crazy –_

_Anyway, we’ll need all hands on deck eventually. So, if you melt down the shield, just, you know, let’s find something for Captain America, you know?_

_I love you. Please stay safe. I know – I know you need to do this. I know I don’t have the right, not really, but… please stay safe._

_Signed, Tony_

_End transcription._

T’Challa lifted the shield.

Underneath the shield was – money. T’Challa stared, and almost immediately he wanted to return it. He didn’t need Tony’s money, he didn’t need…

But he could understand why Tony sent it. He could understand it… and he respected it.

Stalking to the doorway, he opened it and saw Aziza standing there. “Please fetch Shuri for me,” he said solemnly. “And let T’Kantu know I would like to see him at his earliest convenience.”

***

It was two days after the challenges – and it was a touch and go situation for the second-to-last challenger, really – and T’Challa was tired. Worn down, still nursing quite a few injuries, he was extremely tired but also extremely excited. He was confirmed as king, and now he had a lot more leeway. He could visit New York without worrying that his tribe would pull out their support from him, and he could _finally_ take a week to just spend time with Tony.

The car pulled up and he stepped out, aching everywhere. His arm was in a sling – it wasn’t broken, but definitely strained, and the sling was to keep himself from overdoing it.

The estate was outside the capitol – he was barely a half an hour drive from the executive office in the capitol, where the political refugees were currently staying.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, he’d go through his missives, making sure that they were still safe, that his Council wasn’t kicking their feet up too much about them, that everything was running well. Tomorrow he’d ask Shuri how the reports were coming. Tomorrow he’d go over the Accords.

Right now, he just wanted to put ice on his muscles. He wanted to go in and see the puppy – he’d settled on a puppy, not a cat, mostly because he had KIT and he didn’t actually know how another cat would react to KIT – and he wanted to flop down on the bed he remembered from when he was a child. He wanted to call up Tony and just listen to his beloved talk.

When he came into the foyer of the estate, he waited for the small barking of the puppy. It was a cute, chubby Rhodesian Ridgeback, female, and T’Challa had come to love the little bundle of energy. But the barking never came.

Confused, he looked behind him to where Shuri was walking in, carrying her own bags. “Where’s the puppy?”

“That abomination?” Shuri said dryly. She and the puppy had a love-hate relationship – Shuri hated the amount of slobber it produced, and the puppy loved to show _just_ how much slobber it could produce. “Probably in your bedroom.”

T’Challa paused. His bedroom was normally closed off – the puppy had the run of the house, more or less, but the bedrooms were off limits. The house staff knew to exercise her, to engage her, but they also knew not to let her into the bedrooms specifically.

“A’mu! A’mu Challa!”

He turned and was nearly bowled over by his two nieces, hitting into his legs around his knees. Patting them on their heads, he stretched an arm out and hugged his cousin Chaya, rubbing his hand against her back. “You’ve been doing well, cousin?”

“We’ve been doing well, T’Challa. But you must be tired,” she said, stepping away and taking up the hands of her children, pulling them back a little.

A faint alarm was ringing in the back of his mind, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “You never tell me to go to sleep. You talk my head off. I have come in, trailing medics, and you insisted on telling me what Jiddi did yesterday for dinner.”

“Your sister has been very insistent – you need your rest,” she said, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes that made him hesitant.

But she was silent, staring at him, and he breathed in deeply. “Alright then. Can you at least tell me where the puppy went? She is not supposed to be in any bedroom, let alone mine?”

Chaya smiled widely, almost _evilly_ , and tilted her head towards the stairs.

Now T’Challa was tempted to go sit in the library, or the study, or the den. Even go and swim in the pool out back.

…There may even be a baby elephant wandering around the grounds somewhere.

“Why aren’t you heading to your room, brother? Are you really going to make me call all our nieces and nephews come chase you upstairs?” Shuri shouted from the vicinity of the kitchen.

Heaving a sigh, T’Challa made his way up the flight of stairs and to the wing that had all the bedrooms. His extended family lived here, of course – he had grown up here, as had his father – and so he ended up saying hello to quite a few different relatives, all of whom pushed him on to his room. Apparently there was something _very important_ he make it to his room.

Finally, before his door, he breathed in and let it out, slow and steady. He really hoped that the puppy hadn’t destroyed the bed – he wasn’t in any position to deal with a mess.

He opened the door and stared.

The curtains had been drawn back a little, just enough to let some light in from the afternoon sun. On his bed was, yes, the puppy – but curled around the puppy, lashes dark against his cheeks, hair tousled and glowing in the light, suit rumpled and tie loosened around his neck, was Tony Stark.

T’Challa stopped and stared, drinking the sight in greedily.

He had hoped – well, he had known that eventually Tony would need to visit Wakanda. He just hadn’t expected it so soon; not with the other Avengers living a half hour’s journey from here, not with Ross on Tony’s tail, and definitely not so soon after the Accords convention in Vienna.

Slowly, quietly, he closed the door behind him and dropped his bag at the door. Toeing off his shoes, he padded quietly over to the bed and slowly sat down.

The puppy picked up her head, tail thumping eagerly, and Tony hummed under his breath, shifting slightly on the bed. Reaching out with his free hand, T’Challa patted the dog’s side.

“Mmm, Chaya? Whuzzit – what’s – is he ‘ere?” Tony mumbled, shifting again and slowly lifting his head, rubbing at his eyes. “God, I didn’t mean to fall asleep—”

He opened his eyes and stared up at T’Challa, brown eyes almost gold in the warm afternoon light.

“ _Ikatana yam_ ,” T’Challa murmured, reaching out to gently cup Tony’s face. “Beloved, you look so tired.”

“It’s – it’s been a long week,” Tony replied, voice faint and dazed. “Well. Hello. I was – I was supposed to be more put together. Than this. Um. When you came in.” He didn’t move his chin, though, even leaned heavily against T’Challa’s hand. “God, this is – I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Chuckling a little, T’Challa leaned over and pressed a practically chaste kiss against Tony’s lips.

The puppy, between their bodies, decided she didn’t want to be left out and hopped up, wriggling with the force of her tail’s wagging, and, laughing, Tony leaned back a little, his hand curling around the body of the puppy. “This little fella was waiting for me when your cousin deposited me in this room. She wouldn’t tell me his name, though.”

“Her name,” T’Challa said, sitting back. “And she doesn’t have a name, not yet.”

Tony frowned a little. “Well, that seems cruel – wait, what’s going on? Why is your arm hurt? Did the bracers malfunction?”

“No, Tony,” T’Challa laughed, standing up and slowly unbuckling the sling. “The last challenger – well, second-to-last – grabbed my wrist and, well. It’s a small sprain, and I just need to be careful with the arm. Not overwork it.”

“You’re bruised. And cut. I thought the challenges wouldn’t be physical?” Tony asked, standing up. He still had his shoes on – he must have come in, sat down, and fallen asleep. Now, he moved around the bed, hands quick and gentle as his fingers danced over the various cuts and bruises, over T’Challa’s arms and down to his wrists. “Are you okay? What can I do to help?”

T’Challa smiled. “Help me undo my shirt and pants?”

Amazingly, Tony blushed, but he competently and expertly undid the buttons of T’Challa’s shirt, helped ease T’Challa’s arms out of his shirt, and then helped T’Challa step out of his pants.

Wearing nothing but boxers, T’Challa stood in front of Tony and watched Tony’s eyes darken, darting over T’Challa’s cuts, bruises, and scrapes. Before Tony could say anything, T’Challa put his hand out to Tony. “I’m fine, beloved. I’ve done worse in my life, and worse will be done to me at other times. I’m just so happy to see you here. I was planning to come to New York next week, once I had time to rest. Is Raheema around?”

“Yeah, she escorted me here – she’s downstairs somewhere, I suppose. That chef you sent is incredible, and I haven’t had Pepper eat so often at the Tower since the chef came. She’s really nice, too. Makes really interesting… fusions?”

“Tony,” T’Challa interrupted.

Tony paused, and it was clear he was nervous, though nervous about what T’Challa was not sure. But T’Challa hoped to stave that off entirely. Moving to the bed, shooing the dog from the center so he could ease himself down. “I’m very tired, Tony, and you also look tired. I would love to have you lie down with me, and with the dog, and just know that you are safe. I have been so worried for so long.”

“You were worried about _me_?” Tony asked, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” T’Challa sighed, stretching in the bed and taking pleasure in the way Tony’s eyes followed over his body. “I know Ross was holding you – or something similar – for an extended period of time. You are alone; Rhodes is still doing physical therapy, and you sent Vision away. You told the child to lay low, gave him a suit and told him to stay away. You were alone, Tony. You were working yourself to the bone. You have made me such beautiful creations – KIT is downstairs with Shuri, she loves it more than I do, in fact – and you were trying _so hard_ and there was so little I could do for you here. I couldn’t even visit you.”

“I was worried about _you_ ,” Tony said – confessed, really, words dragged out of his throat, almost whispering them. “I mean – you’re easily, you’re younger than me. You’re – you’re richer, you’re smarter, you have, you—”

T’Challa propped himself up, meeting Tony’s nervous game calmly. It seemed to stop Tony’s words, and the older man looked away and swallowed hard.

“You could have anyone. You took in the Avengers, and you could have anything.”

“And yet I chose you. I choose you,” T’Challa said seriously. He glanced over at the puppy and back at Tony. “You asked what the dog’s name was, didn’t you?”

Confused, Tony glanced over at dog.

“She doesn’t have a name yet. She’s waiting for you to name her. I told the elders of my tribe that you were my consort, and nothing they could do or say could change my mind.”

Tony stared at T’Challa.

“Will you lie down with me? I am, really, very tired. You also look very tired.”

Almost as if dazed, Tony undid his suit jacket and shirt, slipped off the tie. Removing his shoes, he let out a small laugh as the puppy hopped up at him as he climbed onto the bed on the other side of T’Challa.

“You were going to give me a puppy?” he whispered.

“You gave me a kitty,” T’Challa murmured, gently curling Tony’s body closer to his, easing their bodies together in a way that wouldn’t aggravate his injuries in any way.

After a few moments of silence, Tony snickered.

“Hmm?” T’Challa asked, blinking open eyes he hadn’t realized he closed.

“Just – I came here to, to see if you still wanted me, and you just – you gave me, essentially, a child and here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” T’Challa said softly, a smile on his lips. He pressed a kiss to Tony’s head. “I’m very glad you came. There’s so much of my country I want you to see.”

“Later,” Tony added.

Huffing out a long sigh, T’Challa nodded. “Later. Much later. Sleep now, Tony.”

The puppy let out a soft boof and then tumbled in between their curled bodies.

“What’s the Wakandan word for love?” Tony yawned against T’Challa’s neck.

It took T’Challa a few moments to place the word. “ _Uthando_.”

With a soft hum, Tony petted the top of the dog’s head. “I like the sound of that. Uthando. I love you, T’Challa.”

T’Challa smiled, content. “I love you too, _ikatana yam_.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt 1:** Oh! Oh! Oh!! I have a prompt for this amazing pair! I love insecure!Tony. Tony shows his affection through presents. A car. An island. A really big bunny. But T'Challa is richer than him. So no presents are gonna be good enough. Tony can't build T'Challa something because he has his own scientists. And really, what can Tony provide a King? What sees T'Challa in him? Angst. Angst. And more angst please! I love this blog and can't wait! Thank you all!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 2:** Tony and t'challa accidentaly started a who can give the best gift contest btw each other and the gifts become incredibly sappy
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 3:** I’m so happy about this blog!!! Anyway, I’d like to read something with jealous T'Challa (or even Tony, I don’t mind). Ok thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 4:** Hye can I request for a possessively  & obsessive Tchalla into making Tony his? The king suspecting Tony have some kind of secret feelings to a certain captain & that’s make Tchalla so determined to make Tony forget his affection for Steve. Let’s say Tchalla manage making Tony fall for him & Steve jealousy on the backgrounds. Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 5:** I think what I love the most out of this ship is the fact that T'challa is richer than Tony so Tony can be the one pampered and spoiled for a change (´∀｀)♡ Can you imagine Tony the moment he realized oh shit my boyfriend is loaded and T'challa knowing that Tony is not used to be the receiving end of pampering and aims to remedy that thoroughly
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 6:** Idk man I just want a fic with Steve being jealous as heck over T'challa’s new relationship with Tony because YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE AND YOU BLEW IT STEVE now I just want him to writhe over the fact that another man went and make Tony the happiest man in the world
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt 7:** Jealous T'Challa?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Care and Wooing of Tony Stark, Billionaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743626) by [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina)
  * [The Care and Wooing of Tony Stark, Billionaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743626) by [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina)




End file.
